ST.   MARK'S    REST. 


THE   HISTORY  OF   VENICE 


WRITTEN  FOR  THE  HELP  OF  THE  FEW  TRAVELLERS  WHO  STILL 
CARE  FOR  HER  MONUMENTS. 


BY 


JOHN    KUSKIN,   LL.D., 

HONORARY  STUDENT  OF  CHRIST  CHCRCB,  AND  SI.ADK  PROFESSOR  OF  FIN!  ABT,  OXFORD. 


I.  BURDEN  OF  TYRE.      II.  LATRATOR   ANUBIS. 

III.  ST.  JAMES  OF  THE  DEEP  STREAM. 

IV.  ST.  THEODORE  THE  CHAIR-SELLER. 

V.  THE  SHADOW   ON  THE  DIAL. 

VI.  RED  AND  WHITE  CLOUDS. 

VII.  DIVINE  RIGHTS.       VIII.    THE    REQUIEM. 

SUPPLEMENTS. 

FIRST— THE  SHRINE  OP  THE  SLAVES. 
SHCOND— THE  PLACE  OP  DRAGONS. 

APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  VIII. 

8ANCTU8,  8ANCTU8,  8ANCTUS. 

NEW  YORK : 

JOHN    WILEY    &    SONS, 

53  EAST  TKNTH  STUEKT. 

1890. 


stack 
Annex 


PREFACE. 


GRKAT  nations  "write  their  autobiographies  in  three 
manuscripts—the  hook  of  their  deeds,  the  book  of  their 
words,  and  the  book  of  their  art.  Xot  one  of  these 
books  can  be  understood  unless  we  read  the  two  others  ; 
but  of  the  three,  the  only  quite  trustworthy  one  is  the 
last.  The  acts  of  a  nation  may  be  triumphant  by  its  good 
fortune  ;  and  its  words  mighty  by  the  genius  of  a  few  of 
its  children  :  but  its  art,  only  by  the  general  gifts  and 
common  sympathies  of  the  race. 

Again,  the  policy  of  a  nation  may  be  compelled,  and, 
therefore,  not  indicative  of  its  true  character.  Its  words 
may  be  false,  while  yet  the  race  remain  unconscious  of 
their  falsehood;  and  no  historian  can  a<> tiredly  detect 
the  hypocrisy.  But  art  is  always  instinctive  ;  and  the 
honesty  or  pretence  of  it  are  therefore  open  to  the 
dav.  The  Delphic  oracle  may  or  may  not  have  been 
spoken  by  an  honest  priestess, — we  cannot  tell  by  the 
words  of  it  ;  a  liar  may  rationally  believe  them  a  lie,  such 
a.s  he  would  himself  have  spoken  ;  and  a  true  man,  with 


IV  PREFACE. 

equal  reason,  may  believe  them  spoken  in  truth.  But 
there  is  no  question  possible  in  art :  at  a  glance  (when 
we  have  learned  to  read),  we  know  the  religion  of  An- 
gelico  to  be  sincere,  and  of  Titian,  assumed. 

The  evidence,  therefore,  of  the  third  book  is  the  most 
.vital  to  our  knowledge  of  any  nation's  life  ;  and  the  his- 
tory of  Venice  is  chiefly  written  in  such  manuscript.  It 
once  lay  open  on  the  waves,  miraculous,  like  St.  Cuth- 
bert's  book, — a  golden  legend  on  countless  leaves :  now, 
like  Baruch's  roll,  it  is  being  cut  with  the  penknife,  leaf 
by  leaf,  and  consumed  in  the  fire  of  the  most  brutish  of 
the  fiends.  What  fragments  of  it  'may  yet  be  saved  in 
blackened  scroll,  like  those  withered  Cottonian  relics  in 
our  National  library,  of  which  so  much  has  been  redeemed 
by  love  and  skill,  this  book  will  help  you,  partly,  to  read. 
Partly, — for  I  know  only  myself  in  part ;  but  what  I  tell 
\<>u,  so  far  as  it  reaches,  will  be  truer  than  you  have 
heard  hitherto,  because  founded  on  this  absolutely  faith- 
ful witness,  despised  by  other  historians,  if  not  wholly 
unintelligible  to  them. 

I  am  obliged  to  write  shortly,  being  too  old  now  to 
spare  time  for  any  thing  more  than  needful  work  ;  and  I 
write  at  speed,  careless  of  afterwards  remediable  mis- 
takes, of  which  adverse  readers  may  gather  as  manv  as 
they  choose  :  that  to  wliich  such  readers  are  adverse  will 
be  found  truth  that  can  abide  any  quantity  of  adversitv. 

As  I  can  get  my  chapters  done,  they  shall  be  published 
iii  this  form,  for  such  service  as  they  can  presently  do. 


PREFACE.  V 

The  entire  book  will  consist  of  not  more  than  twelve  such 
parts,  with  two  of  appendices,  forming  two  volumes:  if  I 
can  get  what  I  have  to  say  into  six  parts,  with  one  appen- 
dix, all  the  better. 

Two  separate  little  guides,  one  to  the  Academy,  the 
other  to  San  Giorgio  de'  Schiavoni,  will,  I  hope,  be  ready 
with  the  opening  numbers  of  this  book,  which  must 
depend  somewhat  on  their  collateral  illustration ;  and 
what  I  find  likely  to  be  of  service  to  the  traveller  in  my 
old  '  Stones  of  Venice '  is  in  course  of  re-publication,  with 
further  illustration  of  the  complete  works  of  Tintoret. 
But  this  cannot  be  ready  till  -the  autumn ;  and  what  I 
have  said  of  the  mightiest  of  Venetian  masters,  in  my 
lecture  on  his  relation  to  Michael  Angelo,  will  be  enough 
at  present  to  enable  the  student  to  complete  the  range  of 
his  knowledge  to  the  close  of  the  story  of  '  St.  Mark's 
Rest.' 


CONTENTS. 


PREFACE 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  BURDEN  OP  TYRE  ........................................      1 

CHAPTER  II. 
LATRATOR  ANUBIS  ...........................................    12 

•y 

CHAPTER  III. 

ST.  JAMES  OF  THE  DEEP  STREAM  ..............................    25 

CHAPTER  IV. 
ST.  THEODORE  THE  CHAIR-SELLER  .............................    34 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  SHADOW  ON  THE  DIAL  ...................................    49 

CHAPTER  VI. 
RED  AND  WHITE  CLOUDS  ................  ....................  =     57 

CHAPTER  VII. 
DIVINE  RIGHT  ...............................................    65 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  REQUIEM  ................................................    75 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

NOTE  ON  THE  MOSAICS  OF  ST.  MARK'S 106 

SUPPLEMENT  I. 
THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES Ill 

SUPPLEMENT  II. 

Edited  by  J.  Ruskin. 
THE  PLACE  OF  DRAGONS 155 

APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  VIII. 

Edited  by  J.  Ruskin. 
SANCTUS,  SANCTUS,  SANCTUS 189 

INDEX..  .217 


ST.   MARK'S    REST. 

CHAPTER    I. 

THE    BURDEN    OF    TYRE. 

Go  first  into  the  Piazzetta,  and  stand  anywhere  in  the 
shade,  where  YOU  can  well  see  its  two  granite  pillars. 

Your  Murray  tells  you  that  they  are  '  famous,'  and  that 
the  one  is  "  surmounted  by  the  bronze  lion  of  St.  Mark, 
the  other  by  the  statue  of  St.  Theodore,  the  Protector  of 
the  Republic." 

It  does  not,  however,  tell  you  why,  or  for  what  the 
pillars  are  '  famous.'  Nor,  in  reply  to  a  question  which 
might  conceivably  occur  to  the  curious,  why  St.  Theodore 
should  protect  the  Republic  by  standing  on  a  crocodile  : 
nor  whether  the  "  bronze  lion  of  St.  Mark  "  was  cast  by 
Sir  Edwin  Landseer, — or  some  more  ancient  and  ignorant 
person  ;  nor  what  these  nigged  corners  of  limestone  rock. 
at  the  bases  of  the  granite,  were  perhaps  once  in  the  shape 
of.  Have  you  any  idea  why,  for  the  sake  of  any  such 
things,  these  pillars  were  once,  or  should  yet  be,  more  re- 
nowned than  the  Monument,  or  the  column  of  the  Place 
Vendome,  both  of  which  are  much  bigger  ( 

AVell,  they  are  famous,  first,  in  memorial  of  something 
which  is  better  worth  remembering  than  the  fire  of  Loii- 


2  ST.    MARK  S    REST. 

don,  or  the  achievements  of  the  great  Napoleon.  And 
tlicv  are  famous,  or  used  to  he,  among  artists,  because  they 
are  beautiful  columns  ;  nay,  as  far  as  we  old  artists  know, 
the  most  beautiful  columns  at  present  extant  and  erect  in 
the  conveniently  visitable  world. 

Each  of  these  causes  of  their  fame  I  will  try  in  some 
dim  degree  to  set  before  you. 

I  said  they  were  set  there  in  memory  of  things, — not  of 
the  man  who  did  the  things.  They  are  to  Venice,  in 
fact,  what  the  Nelson  column  would  be  to  London,  if, 
instead  of  a  statue  of  Nelson  and  a  coil  of  rope,  on  the 
top  of  it,  we  had  put  one  of  the  four  Evangelists,  and  a 
saint,  for  the  praise  of  the  Gospel  and  of  Holiness: — 
trusting  the  memory  of  Nelson  to  our  own  souls. 

However,  the  memory  of  the  Nelson  of  A"enice,  being 
now  seven  hundred  years  old,  has  more  or  less  faded  from 
the  heart  of  Venice  herself,  and  seldom  finds  its  way  into 
the  heart  of  a  stranger.  Somewhat  concerning  him, 
though  a  stranger,  you  may  care  to  hear,  but  you  must 
hear  it  in  quiet ;  so  let  your  boatman  take  you  across  to 
San  Giorgio  Maggiore  ;  there  you  can  moor  your  gondola 
under  the  steps  in  the  shade,  and  read  in  peace,  looking  up 
at  the  pillars  when  you  like. 

In  the  year  1117,  when  the  Doge  Ordelafo  Falier  had 
been  killed  under  the  walls  of  Zara,  Venice  chose,  for  his 
successor,  Domenico  Michiel,  Michael  of  the  Lord,  (  Catto- 
lico  nomo  e  audace,'  *  a  catholic  and  brave  man,  the  serv- 
ant of  God  and  of  St.  Michael. 

*  Marin  Sanuto.  Vitee  Ducuni  Venetorum,  henceforward  quoted  as 
V.,  with  references  to  the  pages  of  Muratori's  edition.  See  Appendix, 
Art.  1,  which  with  following  appendices  will  be  given  in  a  separate 
number  as  soon  as  there  are  enough  to  form  one. 


I.    THK    WRDKX    OF   TYRE. 

Another  of  Mr.  Mnrray's^publications  for  your  general 
assistance  ('Sketches  from  Venetian  History')  informs 
yon  that,  at  this  time,  the  ambassadors  of  the  King  of 
Jerusalem  (the  second  Baldwin)  were  "awakening  the 
pious  zeal,  and  stimulating  the  commercial  appetite,  of 
the  Venetians." 

This  elegantly  balanced  sentence  is  meant  to  suggest  to 
you  that  the  Venetians  had  as  little  piety  as  we  have  our- 
selves, and  were  as  fond  of  money — that  article  being 
the  only  one  which  an  Englishman  could  now  think  of, 
as  an  object  of  "  commercial  appetite." 

The  facts  which  take  this  aspect  to  the  lively  cockney, 
arc,  in  reality,  that  Venice  was  sincerely  pious,  and  in- 
tensely covetous.  But  not  covetous  merely  of  money. 
She  was  covetous,  first,  of  fame  ;  secondly,  of  kingdom  ; 
thirdly,  of  pillars  of  marble  and  granite,  such  as  these  that 
you  see  ;  lastly,  and  quite  principally,  of  the  relics  of  good 
people.  Such  an  '  appetite,'  glib-tongued  cockney  friend, 
is  not  wholly  '  commercial.' 

To  the  nation  in  this  religiously  covetous  hunger,  Bald- 
win appealed,  a  captive  to  the  Saracen.  The  Pope  sent 
letters  to  press  his  suit,  and  the  Doge  Michael  called  the 
State  to  council  in  the  church  of  St.  Mark.  There  he, 
and  the  Primate  of  Venice,  and  her  nobles,  and  such  of 
the  people  as  had  due  entrance  with  them,  by  way  of  be- 
ginning the  business,  celebrated  the  Mass  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  Then  the  Primate  read  the  Pope's  letters  aloud 
to  the  assembly  ;  then  the  Doge  made  the  assembly  a 
speech.  And  there  was  no  opposition  party  in  that  parli- 
ament to  make  opposition  speeches ;  and  there  were 
no  reports  of  the  speed i  next  morning  in  any  Times 
or  Daily  Telegraph.  And  there  were  no  plenipoten- 


4  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

tiaries  sent  to  the  East,  and"  back  again.  But  the  vote 
passed  for  war. 

The  Doge  left  his  son  in  charge  of  the  State  ;  and  sailed 
for  the  Holy  Land,  with  forty  galleys  and  twenty-eight 
beaked  ships  of  battle — "  ships  which  were  painted  with 
divers  colors,"  *  far  seen  in  pleasant  splendor. 

Some  faded  likeness  of  them,  twenty  years  ago,  might 
be  seen  in  the  painted  sails  of  the  fishing  boats  which  lay 
crowded,  in  lowly  lustre,  where  the  development  of  civili- 
zation now  only  brings  black  steam -tugs, f  to  bear  the 
people  of  Venice  to  the  bathing-machines  of  Lido,  cover- 
ing their  Ducal  Palace  with  soot,  and  consuming  its  sculp- 
tures with  sulphurous  acid. 

The  beaked  ships  of  the  Doge  Michael  had  each  a  hun- 
dred oars, — each  oar  pulled  by  two  men,  not  accommo- 
dated with  sliding  seats,  but  breathed  well  for  their  great 
boat-race  between  the  shores  of  Greece  and  Italy, — whose 
names,  alas,  with  the  names  of  their  trainers,  are  noteless 
in  the  journals  of  the  barbarous  time. 

They  beat  their  way  across  the  waves,  nevertheless,  \ 
to  the  place  by  the  sea-beach  in  Palestine  where  Dorcas 
worked  for  the  poor,  and  St.  Peter  lodged  with  his  name- 
sake tanner.  There,  showing  first  but  a  squadron  of  a  few 
ships,  they  drew  the  Saracen  fleet  out  to  sea,  and  so  set 
upon  them. 

*  '  The  Acts  of  God,  by  the  Franks.'  Afterwards  quoted  as  G. 
((n-sta  Dei).  Again,  see  Appendix,  Art.  1. 

f  The  sails  may  still  be  seen  scattered  farther  east  along  the  Riva  ; 
but  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  which  gave  some  image  of  the  past,  was 
in  their  combination  with  the  Ducal  Palace, — not  with  the  new 
French  and  English  Restaurants. 

\  Oars,  of  course,  for  calm,  and  adverse  winds,  only  ;  bright  sails 
full  to  the  helpful  breeze. 


I.    THE    BL'KPEN    OF   TYRE.  5 

And  the  Doge,  in  his  true  Duke's  place,  first  in  his 
beaked  ship,  led  fur  the  Saracen  admiral's,  struck  her, 
and  sunk  her.  And  his  host  of  falcons  followed  to  the 
slaughter :  and  to  the  prey  also, — for  the  battle  was  not 
without  gratification  of  the  commercial  appetite.  The 
Venetians  took  a  number  of  ships  containing  precious 
silks,  and  "  a  quantity  of  drugs  and  pepper." 

After  which  battle,  the  Doge  went  up  to  Jerusalem, 
there  to  take  further  counsel  concerning  the  use  of  his 
Venetian  power:  and,  being  received  there  witli  honor, 
kept  his  Christmas  in  the  mountain  of  the  Lord. 

In  the  council  of  war  that  followed,  debate  became  stern 
whether  to  undertake  the  siege  of  Tyre  or  Ascalon.  The 
judgments  of  men  being  at  pause,  the  matter  was  given 
to  the  judgment  of  (iod.  They  put  the  names  of  the  two 
cities  in  an  urn,  on  the  altar  of  the  Church  of  the  Sepul- 
chre. An  orphan  child  was  taken  to  draw  the  lots,  who, 
putting  his  hand  into  the  urn,  drew  out  the  name  of  TVKK. 

Which  name  you  may  have  heard  before,  and  read  per- 
haps words  concerning  her  fall — careless  always  when  the 
fall  took  place,  or  whose  sword  smote  her. 

She  was  still  a  glorious  city,  still  queen  of  the  treasures 
of  the  sea;*  chietly  renowned  for  her  work  in  glas<  and 
in  purple  ;  set  in  command  of  a  rich  plain,  "•  irrigated  with 
plentiful  and  perfect  waters,  famous  for  its  sugar-canes  ; 
'  fortissima/  she  herself,  upon  her  rock,  double  walled 
towards  the  sea,  treble  walled  to  the  land  :  and,  to  all 
seeming,  unconquerable  but  by  famine." 

*  "  Passava  tnttavia  per  l;i  pin  popolosav  commerciante  <\i  Siria." — 
Kninanin,  '  Storia  IWnmiMitata  ill  Veiie/.ia,'  Venice,  is,"):},  vol.  ii., 
wilt-net'  I  lake  what  else  is  said  in  the  text  ;  but  see  in  the  Gesta  IVi. 
the  older  MarinSanuto,  lib.  iii.,pars.  fi.  cap.  xii.,  and  pars,  -s.lv.  cap.  ii. 


6  ST.    MARK  S    REST. 

For  their  help  in  this  great  siege,  the  Venetians  made 
their  conditions. 

That  in  every  city  subject  to  the  King  of  Jerusalem,  the 
Venetians  should  have  a  street,  a  square,  a  bath,  and  a. 
bakehouse  :  that  is  to  say,  a  place  to  live  in,  a  place  to 
meet  in,  and  due  command  of  water  and  bread,  all  free  of 
tax  ;  that  they  should  use  their  own  balances,  weights,  and 
measures  (not  by  any  means  false  ones,  you  will  please 
to  observe)  ;  and  that  the  King  of  Jerusalem  should  pay 
annually  to  the  Doge  of  Venice,  on  the  Feast  of  St.  Peter 
and  St.  Paul,  three  hundred  Saracen  byzants. 

Such,  with  due  approval  of  the  two  Apostles  of  the 
Gentiles,  being  the  claims  of  these  Gentile  mariners 
from  the  King  of  the  Holy  City,  the  same  were  accepted 
in  these  terms :  "  In  the  name  of  the  Holy  and  un- 
divided Trinity  of  the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy 
Ghost,  these  are  the  treaties  which  Baldwin,  second  King 
of  the  Latins  in  Jerusalem,  made  with  St.  Mark  and 

Dominicus  Michael  "  ;  and  ratified  by  the  signatuies  of— 
/ 

GUARIMOND,  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem  ; 

EBREMAR,  Archbishop  of  Cresarea  ; 

BERNARD,  Archbishop  of  Nazareth  ; 

ASQUIRIN,  Bishop  of  Bethlehem  ; 

\GOLDUMUS,  Abbot  of  St.  Mary's,  in  the  Vale  of  Jehosh- 
aphat ; 

•AcciiARD,  Prior  of  the  Temple  of  the  Lord ; 

GERARD,  Prior  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  ; 

ARNARD,  Prior  of  Mount  Syon  ;  and 

HUGO  DE  PAGANO,  Master  of  the  Soldiers  of  the  Tem- 
ple. With  others  many,  whose  names  are  in  the 
chronicle  of  Andita  Dandolo. 


I.    THE   BURDEN    OF   TYRE.  7 

And  thereupon  the  French  crusaders  by  land,  and  the 
Venetians  by  sea,  drew  line  of  siege  round  Tyre. 

You  will  not  expect  me  here,  at  St.  George's  step-.  t<> 
give  account  of  the  various  mischief  done  on  each  other 
with  the  dart,  the  stone,  and  the  fire,  by  the  Christian  and 
Saracen,  day  by  day.  Both  were  at  last  wearied,  when 
report  came  of  help  to  the  Tyrians  by  an  army  from 
Damax-us,  and  a  fleet  from  Egypt.  Upon  which  news, 
discord  arose  in  the  invading  camp ;  and  rumor  went 
abroad  that  the  Venetians  would  desert  their  allies,  and 
save  themselves  in  their  fleet.  These  reports  coming  to 
the  ears  of  the  Doge,  he  took  (according  to  tradition)  the 
sails  from  his  ships'  masts,  and  the  rudders  from  their 
sterns,*  and  brought  sails,  rudders,  and  tackle  ashore,  and 
into  the  French  camp,  adding  to  these,  for  his  pledge, 
"  grave  words." 

The  French  knights,  in  shame  of  their  miscreance,  bade 
him  retit  his  ships.  The  Count  of  Tripoli  and  William 
of  Bari  were  sent  to  make  head  against  the  Damascenes  ; 
and  the  Doge,  leaving  ships  enough  to  blockade  the  port, 
sailed  himself,  with  what  could  be  spared,  to  find  the 
Kgyptian  ileet.  He  sailed  to  Alexandria,  showed  his  sails 
along  the  coast  in  detiance,  and  returned. 

Meantime  his  coin  for  payment  of  his  mariner.-  was 
.-pent.  He  did  not  care  to  depend  on  remittances,  lie 

*  By  doing  this  lie  left  his  fleet  helpless  before  an  enemy,  for  nuval 
warfare  at  this  time  depended  wholly  on  the  fine  steering  of  the  ships 
at  the  moment  of  onset.  But  for  all  ordinary  mano-uvres  necessary 
for  the  safety  of  the  fleet  in  harbor,  their  o;irs  wi-re  enough.  Andrea 
Oandolo  says  he  took  a  plank  ("  tabula")  out  of  each  ship, — a  more 
fatal  injury.  I  suspect  the  truth  to  have  been  that  he  simply  lin- 
t-hipped the  rudders,  and  brought  them  into  camp  ;  a  grave  speech- 
-ymbol,  earnest  enough,  but  not  costly  of  useless  labor. 


8  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

struck  a  coinage  of  leather,  with  St.  Mark's  and  his  own 
shield  on  it,  promising  his  soldiers  that  for  every  leathern 
rag,  so  signed,  at  Yenice,  there  should  be  given  a  golden 
zecchin.  And  his  word  was  taken  ;  and  his  word  was 
kept. 

So  the  steady  siege  went  on,  till  the  Tyriaus  lost  hope, 
and  asked  terms  of  surrender. 

They  obtained  security  of  person  and  property,  to  the 
indignation  of  the  Christian  soldiery,  who  had  expected 
the  sack  of  Tyre.  The  city  was  divided  into  three  parts, 
of  which  two  were  given  to  the  King  of  Jerusalem,  the 
third  to  the  Venetians. 

JIow  Baldwin  governed  his  two  thirds,  I  do  not  know, 
nor  what  capacity  there  was  in  the  Tyrians  of  being  gov- 
erned at  all.  But  the  Venetians,  for  their  third  part,  ap- 
pointed a  '  bailo  '  to  do  civil  justice,  and  a  '  viscount '  to 
answer  for  military  defence ;  and  appointed  magistrates 
under  these,  who,  on  entering  office,  took  the  following 
oath  : — 

"  I  swear  on  the  holy  Gospels  of  God,  that  sincerely 
and  without  fraud  I  will  do  right  to  all  men  who  are 
under  the  jurisdiction  of  Venice  in  the  city  of  Tyre  ;  and 
to  every  other  who  shall  be  brought  before  me  for  judg- 
ment, according  to  the  ancient  use  and  law  of  the  city. 
And  so  far  as  I  know  not,  and  am  left  uninformed  of 
that,  I  will  act  by  such  rule  as  shall  appear  to  me  just, 
according  to  the  appeal  and  answer.  Farther,  I  will  give 
faithful  and  honest  counsel  to  the  Bailo  and  the  Viscount, 
•u'li  f  11  lam  asked  for  it;  and  if  they  share  any  secret 
with  me,  I  will  keep  it ;  neither  will  I  procure  by  fraud, 
good  to  a  friend,  nor  evil  to  an  enemy."  And  thus  tlr_ 
Venetian  state  planted  stable  colonies  in  Asia. 


I.    THE    BURDEN    OF   TYRE.  9 

Thus  far  Romanin  ;  to  whom,  nevertheless,  it  does  not 
occur  to  ask  what  ;  establishing  colonies  in  Asia '  meant 
for  Venice.  "Whether  they  were  in  Asia,  Africa,  or  the 
Island  of  Atlantis,  did  not  at  this  time  greatly  matter  ;  but 
it  mattered  infinitely  that  they  were  colonies  tiviny  in 
fr'i<  ///////  rrlittnm*  "-'th  the  Saracen,  and  that  at  the  verv 
same  moment  arose  cause  of  quite  other  than  friendly  re- 
lations, between  the  Venetian  and  the  Greek. 

For  while  the  Doge  Michael  fought  for  the  Christian 
king  at  Jerusalem,  the  Christian  emperor  at  Byzantium 
attacked  the  defenceless  states  of  Venice,  on  the  main- 
land of  Dalmatia,  and  seized  their  cities.  Whereupon  the 
Doge  set  sail  homewards,  fell  on  the  Greek  islands  of  the 
Egean,  and  took  the  spoil  of  them  ;  seized  Cephalonia ; 
recovered  the  lost  cities  of  Dalmatia;  compelled  the 
Greek  emperor  to  sue  for  peace, — gave  it,  in  angry  scorn  ; 
and  set  his  sails  at  last  for  his  own  Rialto,  with  the  scep- 
tres of  Tyre  and  of  Byzantium  to  lay  at  the  feet  of 
Venice. 

Spoil  also  he  brought,  enough,  of  such  commercial  kind 
as  Venice  valued.  These  pillars  that  you  look  upon,  of 
rosy  and  gray  rock  ;  and  the  dead  bodies  of  St.  Donato 
and  St.  Isidore. 

lie  thus  returned,  in  1126  :  Fate  had  left  him  yet  four 
years  to  live.  In  which,  among  other  homely  work,  he 
made  the  beginning  for  you  (oh  much  civilized  friend, 
you  will  at  least  praise  him  in  this)  of  these  mighty  gaseou.- 
illnminations  by  which  Venice  provides  for  your  seeing 
her  shop-wares  by  night,  and  provides  against  your  seeing 
the  moon,  or  stars,  or  sea. 

For,  finding  the  narrow  streets  of  Venice  dark,  and 
opportune  for  robbers,  he  ordered  that  at  the  heads  of 


10  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

them  there  should  be  set  little  tabernacles  for  images  of 
the  saints,  and  before  each  a  light  kept  burning.  Tims 
he  commands, — not  as  thinking  that  the  saints  themselves 
had  need  of  candles,  but  that  they  would  gladly  grant  to 
poor  mortals  in  danger,  material  no  less  than  heavenly 
light. 

And  having  in  this  pretty  and  lowly  beneficence  ended 
what  work  he  had  to  do  in  this  world,  feeling  his  strength 
fading,  he  laid  down  sword  and  ducal  robe  together ;  and 
became  a  monk,  in  this  island  of  St.  George,  at  the  shore 
of  which  you  are  reading  :  but  the  old  monastery  on  it 
which'  sheltered  him  was  destroyed  long  ago,  that  this 
stately  Palladian  portico  might  be  built,  to  delight  Mr. 
Eustace  on  his  classical  tour, — and  other  such  men  of  re- 
nown,— and  persons  of  excellent  taste,  like  yourself. 

And  there  he  died,  and  was  buried  ;  and  there  he  lies, 
virtually  tombless :  the  place  of  his  grave  you  find  by 
going  down  the  steps  on  your  right  hand  behind  the  altar, 
leading  into  what  was  yet  a  monastery  before  the  last 
Italian  revolution,  but  is  now  a  finally  deserted  loneli- 
ness. 

Over  his  grave  there  is  a  heap  of  frightful  modern  up- 
holsterer's work, — Longhena's ;  his  first  tomb  (of  which 
you  may  see  some  probable  likeness  in  those  at  the  side  of 
St.  John  and  St.  Paul)  being  removed  as  too  modest  and 
time  worn  for  the  vulgar  Venetian  of  the  seventeenth 
century ;  and  this,  that  you  see,  put  up  to  please  the  Lord 
Mayor  and  the  beadles. 

The  old  inscription  was  copied  on  the  rotten  black  slate 
which  is  breaking  away  in  thin  flakes,  dimmed  by  dusty 
salt.  The  beginning  of  it  yet  remains :  "  Here  lies  the 
Terror  of  the  Greeks."  Read  also  the  last  lines  : 


I.   THE   BURDEN   OF   TYRE.  11 


THOU  ART,  WHO  COMEST  TO  BEHOLD  THIS 
TOMB  OF  HIS,  BOW  THYSELF  DOWX  BEFOKE  GoD,  BECAUSE  OF 
HIM." 

Of  these  things,  then,  tlie  two  pillars  before  you  are 
"  famous  '  in  memorial.     TVhat  in  themselves  they  po.-~ 
deserving  honor,  we  will  next  try  to  discern.     But  y<m 
must  ru\v  a  little  nearer  to  the  pillars,  so  as  to  see  them 
clearly. 


CHAPTER  II. 

LATKATOR    ANUBIS. 

1  SAED  these  pillars  were  the  most  beautiful  known  to 
me  ;  but  you  must  understand  this  saying  to  be  of  the 
whole  pillar — group  of  base,  shaft,  and  capital — not  only 
of  their  shafts. 

You  know  so  much  of  architecture,  perhaps,  as  that  an 
'  order '  of  it  is  the  system,  connecting  a  shaft  with  its 
capital  and  cornice.  And  you  can  surely  feel  so  much  of 
architecture,  as  that,  if  you  took  the  heads  off  these  pil- 
lars, and  set  the  granite  shafts  simply  upright  on  the  pave- 
ment, they  would  perhaps  remind  you  of  ninepins,  or  roll- 
ing-pins, but  would  in  no  wise  contribute  either  to  respect- 
ful memory  of  the  Doge  Michael,  or  to  the  beauty  of  the 
Piazzetta. 

Their  beauty,  which  has  been  so  long  instinctively  felt 
by  artists,  consists  then  first  in  the  proportion,  and  then 
in  the  propriety  of  their  several  parts.  Do  not  confuse 
proportion  with  propriety.  An  elephant  is  as  properly 
made  as  a  stag  ;  but  he  is  not  so  gracefully  proportioned. 
In  fine  architecture,  and  all  other  fine  arts,  grace  and 
propriety  meet. 

I  will  take  the  fitness  first.  You  see  that  both  these 
pillars  have  wide  bases  of  successive  steps.  *  You  can 
feel  that  these  would  be  '  improper  '  round  the  pillars  of 

*  Restored, — but  they  always  must  have  had  them,  in  some  such 
proportion. 


II.   LATRATOR  ANUBIS.  13 

an  arcade  in  which  people  walked,  because  they  would  be 
in  the  way.  But  they  are  proper  here,  because  they  tell 
us  the  pillar  is  to  be  isolated,  and  that  it  is  a  monument  of 
importance.  Look  from  these  shafts  to  the  arcade  of  the 
Ducal  Palace.  Its  pillars  have  been  found  fault  with  for 
wanting  bases.  But  they  were  meant  to  be  walked  beside 
without  stumbling. 

Next,  you  see  the  tops  of  the  capitals  of  the  great  pil- 
lars spread  wide,  into  flat  tables.  You  can  feel,  surely, 
that  these  are  entirely  '  proper,'  to  afford  room  for  the 
statues  they  are  to  receive,  and  that  the  edges,  which  bear 
no  weight,  may  'properly  '  extend  widely.  But  suppose 
a  weight  of  superincumbent  wall  were  to  be  laid  on  these 
pillars  ?  The  extent  of  capital  which  is  now  graceful, 
would  then  be  weak  and  ridiculous. 

Thus  far  of  propriety,  whose  simple  laws  are  soon  satis- 
fied :  next,  of  proportion. 

You  see  that  one  of  the  shafts — the  St.  Theodore's — 
is  much  more  slender  than  the  other. 

One  general  law  of  proportion  is  that  a  slender  shaft 
should  have  a  slender  capital,  and  a  ponderous  shaft,  a 
ponderous  one. 

But  had  this  law  been  here  followed,  the  companion  pil- 
lars would  have  instantly  become  ill-matched.  The  eye 
would  have  discerned  in  a  moment  the  fat  pillar  and  the 
lean.  They  would  never  have  become  the  fraternal  pil- 
lars— '  the  two  '  of  the  Piazzetta. 

"With  subtle,  scarcely  at  first  traceable,  care,  the  designer 
varied  the  curves  and  weight  of  his  capitals;  and  gave 
the  massive  head  to  the  slender  shaft,  and  the  slender 
capital  to  the  massive  shaft.  And  thus  they  stand  in 
symmetry,  and  uncontending  equity. 


14  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

y 

Next,  for  the  form  of  these  capitals  themselves,  and  the 
date  of  them. 

You  will  find  in  the  guide-books  that  though  the  shafts 
were  brought  home  by  the  Doge  in  1126,  no  one  could 
be  found  able  to  set  them  up,  until  the  year  1171,  when 
a  certain  Lombard,  called  Nicholas  of  the  Barterers,  raised 
them,  and  for  reward  of  such  engineering  skill,  bar- 
gained that  he  might  keep  tables  for  forbidden  games 
of  chance  between  the  shafts.  Whereupon  the  Senate 
ordered  that  executions  should  also  take  place  between 
them. 

You  read,  and  smile,  and  pass  on  with  a  dim  sense  of 
having  heard  something  like  a  good  story. 

Yes  ;  of  which  I  will  pray  you  to  remark,  that  at  that 
uncivilized  time,  games  of  chance  were  forbidden  in 
Venice,  and  that  in  these  modern  civilized  times  they  are 
not  forbidden;  and  one,  that  of  the  lottery,  .even  pro- 
moted by  the  Government  as  gainful  :  and  that  perhaps 
the  Venetian  people  might  find  itself  more  prosperous  on 
the  whole  by  obeying  that  law  of  their  fathers,  *  and 
ordering  that  no  lottery  should  be  drawn,  except  in  a  place 
where  somebody  had  been  hanged,  f  But  the  curious 
thing  is  that  while  this  pretty  story  is  never  forgotten, 
about  the  raising  of  the  pillars,  nothing  is  ever  so  much  as 
questioned  about  who  put  their  tops  and  bases  to  them  ! 
— nothing  about  the  resolution  that  lion  or  saint  should 
stand  to  preach  on  them, — nothing  about  the  Saint's  ser- 

*  Have  you  ever  read  the '  Fortunes  of  Nigel '  with  attention  to  the 
moral  of  it  ? 

f  It  orders  now  that -the  drawing  should  be  at  the  foot  of  St.  Mark's 
Campanile  ;  and,  weekly,  the  mob  of  Venice,  gathered  for  the  event, 
fills  the  marble  porches  with  its  anxious  murmur. 


IT.     LATRATOR    AX  I   15  IS.  IT) 

or  the  Lion's;  nor  enough,  even,  concerning  the 
name  or  occupation  of  Nicholas  the  Barterer,  to  lead  the 
pensive  traveller  into  a  profitable  observance  o'f  the  ap- 
pointment of  Fate,  that  in  this  Tyre  of  the  West,  the  city 
of  merchants,  her  monuments  of  triumph  over  the  Tyre  of 
the  Fast  should  forever  stand  signed  hy  a  tradition  re- 
cording the  stern  judgment  of  her  youth  against  the  gam- 
bler's lust,  which  was  the  passion  of  her  old  age. 

But  now  of  the  capitals  themselves.  If  you  are  the 
least  interested  in  architecture,  should  it  not  he  of  some 
importance  to  you  to  note  the  style  of  them  ?  Twelfth 
century  capitals,  as  fresh  as  when  they  came  from  the 
chisel,  are  not  to  he  seen  every  day,  or  everywhere — • 
much  less  capitals  like  these,  a  fathom  or  so  broad  and 
high  !  And  if  you  know  the  architecture  of  England  and 
France  in  the  twelfth  century,  you  will  find  these  capitals 
still  more  interesting  from  their  extreme  difference  in 
manner.  Not  the  least  like  our  clumps  and  humps  and 
cushions,  are  they  (  For  these  are  living  Greek  work, 
still;  not  savage  Xonnan  or  clumsy  Northumbrian,  these; 
hut  of  pure  ( 'orinthian  race  ;  yet,  with  Venetian  practical- 
ness of  mind,  solidified  from  the  rich  clusters  of  light  leaf- 
age which  were  their  ancient  form.  You  must  find  time 
for  a  little  practical  cutting  of  capitals  yourself,  before 
you  will  discern  the  beauty  of  these.  There  is  nothing 
like  a  little  work  with  the  fingers  for  teaching  the  eyes. 

As  you  go  home  to  lunch,  therefore,  buy  a  pound  of 
(iruyere  cheese,  or  of  any  other  equally  tough  and  bad, 
with  as  few  holes  in  it  as  may  be.  And  out  of  this 
pound  of  cheese,  at  lunch,  cut  a  solid  cube  as  neatly  as 
you  can. 

Now  all  treatment  of  capitals  depends  primarily  on  the 


16  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

way  iti  which  a  cube  of  stone,  like  this  of  cheese,  is  left 
Ly  the  carver  square  at  the  top,  to  carry  the  wall,  and  cut 
round  at  the  bottom  to  lit  its  circular  pillar.  Proceed 
therefore  to  cut  your  cube  so  that  it  may  lit  a  round  pillar 
of  cheese  at  the  bottom,  such  as  is  extracted,  for  tasting, 
by  magnanimous  cheesemongers,  for  customers  worth  their 
while.  Your  first  natural  proceeding  will  of  course  be  to 
cut  off  four  corners  ;  so  making  an  octagon  at  the  bottom, 
which  is  a  good  part  of  the  way  to  a  circle.  Now  if  you 
cut  off  those  corners  with  rather  a  long,  sweeping  cut,  as 
if  you  were  cutting  a  pencil,  you  will  see  that  already  you 
have  got  very  near  the  shape  of  the  Piazze'tta  capitals. 
But  you  will  come  still  nearer,  if  you  make  each  of  these 
simple  corner-cuts  into  two  narrower  ones,  thus  bringing 
the  lower  portion  of  your  bit  of  cheese  into  a  twelve-sided 
figure.  And  you  will  see  that  each  of  these  double-cut 
angles  now  has  taken  more  or  less  the  shape  of  a  leaf, 
with  its  central  rib  at  the  angle.  And  if,  further,  with 
such  sculpturesque  and  graphic  talent  as  may  be  in  you, 
you  scratch  out  the  real  shape  of  a  leaf  at  the  edge  of  the 
cuts  and  run  furrows  from  its  outer  lobes  to  the  middle, — 
behold,  you  have  your  Piazzetta  capital.  All  but  have  it, 
I  should  say  ;  only  this  '  all  but '  is  nearly  all  the  good  of 
it,  which  comes  of  the  exceeding  fineness  with  which  the 
simple  curves  are  drawn,  and  reconciled. 

Nevertheless,  you  will  have  learned,  if  sagacious  in  such 
matters,  by  this  quarter  of  an  hour's  carving,  so  much  of 
architectural  art  as  will  enable  you  to  discern,  and  to  en- 
joy the  treatment  of,  all  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  cen- 
tury capitals  in  Venice,  which,  without  exception,  when 
of  native  cutting,  are  concave  bells  like  this,  with  either  a 
springing  leaf,  or  a  bending  boss  of  stone  which  would  be- 


II.    LATRATOi:    ANT  HIS.  17 

come  a  leaf  if  it  were  farrowed,  at  the  angles.  But  the 
fourteenth  century  brings  a  change. 

IJefore  I  tell  you  what  took  place  in  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, you  must  cut  yourself  another  cube  of  Grnvere 
cheese.  You  see  that  in  the  one  you  have  made  a  capital 
of  already,  a  good  weight  of  cheese  out  of  the  cube  has 
been  cut  away  in  tapering  down  those  long-leaf  corners. 
Suppo>e  you  try  now  to  make  a  capital  of  it  without  cut- 
ting away  so  much  cheese.  If  you  begin  half  way  down 
the  side,  with  a  shorter  but  more  curved  cut,  you  may  re- 
duce the  base  to  the  same  form,  and — supposing  you  are 
working  in  marble  instead  of  cheese — you  have  not  only 
much  le.-s  trouble,  but  you  keep  a  much  more  solid  block 
of  stone  to  bear  superincumbent  weight. 

Now  you  may  go  back  to  the  Piazzetta,  and,  thence 
proceeding,  so  as  to  get  svell  in  front  of  the  Ducal  Palace, 
look  first  to  the  Greek  shaft  capitals,  and  then  to  those  of 
the  Ducal  Palace  upper  arcade.  You  will  recognize, 
especially  in  those  nearest  the  Ponte  della  Paglia  (at 
least,  if  you  have  an  eye  in  your  head),  the  shape  of  your 
second  block  of  Gruyere, — decorated,  it  is  true,  in  mani- 
fold ways,  but  essentially  shaped  like  your  most  cheaply 
cut  block  of  cheese.  Modern  architects,  in  imitating 
these  capitals,  can  reach  as- far  as — imitating  your  Gruyere. 
Not  being  able  to  decorate  the  block  when  they  have 
got  it,  they  declare  that  decoration  is  "a  superficial  merit." 

^  e>, — very  superficial.  Eyelashes  and  eyebrows — lips 
and  nostrils— chin-dimples  and  curling  hair,  are  all  very 
superiici.il  things,  wherewith  Heaven  decorates  the  human 
skull  ;  making  the  maid's  face  of  it,  or  the  knight's. 
Neverthele-s,  what  I  want  you  to  notice  now,  is  but  the 
form  of  the  block  of  Istrian  stone,  usually  with  a  spiral. 


IS  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

more  or  less  elaborate,  on  each  of  its  projecting  angles. 
For  there  is  infinitude  of  history  in  that  solid  angle,  pre- 
vailing over  the  light  Greek  leaf.  That  is  related  to  our 
humps  and  clumps  at  Durham  and  Winchester.  Here  is, 
indeed,  Xorman  temper,  prevailing  over  Byzantine;  %nd 
it  means, — the  outcome  of  that  quarrel  of  Alichiel  with 
the  Greek  Emperor.  It  means — western  for  eastern  life, 
in  the  mind  of  Venice.  It  means  her  fellowship  with  the 
western  chivalry  ;  her  triumph  in  the  Crusades, — triumph 
over  her  own  foster  nurse,  Byzantium. 

Which  significances  of  it,  and  many  others  with  them, 
if  we  wrould  follow,  we  must  leave  our  stone-cutting  for  a 
little  while,  and  map  out  the  chart  of  Venetian  history 
from  its  beginning  into  such  masses  as  we  may  remember 
without  confusion. 

But,  since  this  will  take  time,  and  we  cannot  quite  tell 
how  long  it  may  be  before  we  get  back  to  the  t\velfth 
century  again,  and  to  our  Piazzetta  shafts,  let  me  complete 
what  I  can  tell  you  of  these  at  once. 

In  the  first  place,  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark  is  a  splendid 
piece  of  eleventh  or  twelfth  century  bronze.  I  know  that 
by  the  style  of  him  ;  but  have  never  found  out  where  he 
came  from.*  I  may  now  chance  on  it,  however,  at  any 
moment  in  other  quests.  Eleventh  or  twelfth  century, 
the  Lion — fifteenth,  or  later,  his  wings  ;  very  delicate  in 
feather-workmanship,  but  with  little  lift  or  strike  in  them  ; 


*  "He" — the  actual  piece  of  forged  metal,  I  mean.  (See  Appendix 
II.  for  account  of  its  recent  botchings.)  Your  modern  English  ex- 
plainers of  him  have  never  heard,  I  observe,  of  any  such  person  as  an 
'  Evangelist,'  or  of  any  Christian  symbol  of  such  a  being  !  See  pagu 
42  of  Mr.  Adams'  'Venice  Past  and  Present '  (Edinburgh  and  New 
York,  1852). 


II.    LATRATOR   ANT1US.  10 

oVrorative  mainly.  Without  doubt  his  first  wings  were 
thin  sheets  of  beaten  bronze,  shred  into  plumule  :  far 
wider  in  their  sweep  than  these.f 

The  statue  of  St.  Theodore,  wliatever  its  age,  is  wholly 
without  merit.  I  can't  make  it  out  myself,  nor  find 
record  of  it :  in  a  stonemason's  y<ml,  I  should  have  pas>ed 
it  as  modern.  But  this  merit  of  the  statue  is  here  of  little 
consequence, — the  power  of  it  being  wholly  in  its  meaning. 

St.  Theodore  represents  the  power  of  the  Spirit  of  (i<»l 
in  all  noble  and  useful  animal  life,  conquering  what  is 
venomous,  useless,  or  in  decay  :  he  differs  from  St.  George 
in  contending  with  material  evil,  instead  of  with  sinful 
passion:  the  croeodile  on  which  he  stands  is  the  Dragon 
of  Egypt ;  slime-begotten  of  old,  worshipped  in  its  malig- 
nant power,  for  a  God.  St.  Theodore's  martyrdom  was 
fur  breaking  such  idols  ;  and  with  beautiful  instinct  Yen- 
ice  took  him  in  her  earliest  days  for  her  protector  and 
standard-bearer,  representing  the  heavenly  life  of  Christ 
in  men,  prevailing  over  chaos  and  the  deep. 

AVith  far  more  than  instinct, — with  solemn  recognition, 
and  prayerful  vow,  she  took  him  in  the  pride  of  her 
chivalry,  in  mid-thirteenth  century,  for  the  master  of  that 
chivalry  in  their  gentleness  of  home  ministries.  The 
•  M^iriegola'  (Mother-Law)  of  the  school  of  St.  Theodore, 
by  kind  fate  yet  preserved  to  us,  contains  the  legend  they 
believed,  in  its  completeness,  and  their  vow  of  service  and 
companionship  in  all  its  terms. 

f  I  am  a  little  proud  of  this  guess,  for  before  correcting  this  sen- 
tence in  type,  I  found  the  sharp  old  wings  represented  faithfully  in 
the  woodcut  of  Venice  in  14MO,  in  the  Correr  Museum.  Durer,  in 
1500,  draws  the  present  wings  ;  so  that  we  get  their  date  fixed  withiu 
twenty  years. 


20 


ST.    MARK'S  REST. 


Either  of  which,  if  you  care  to  understand,— several 
other  matters  and  writings  must  be  understood  first ;  and, 
among  others,  a  pretty  piece  of  our  own  much  boasted,—  - 
how  little  obeyed, — Mother-Law,  sung  still  by  statute  in 
our  churches  at  least  once  in  the  month  ;  the  eighty-sixth 
Psalm.  "  Her  foundations  Are  in  the  holy  Mountains." 
I  hope  you  can  go  on  with  it  by  heart,  or  at  least  have  your 
Bible  in  your  portmanteau.  In  the  remote  possibility  that 
you  may  have  thought  its  carriage  unnecessarily  expensive, 
here  is  the  Latin  psalm,  with  its  modern  Italian-Catholic  * 
translation;  watery  enough,  this  last,  but  a  clear  and 
wholesome,  though  little  vapid,  dilution  and  diffusion  of  its 
text, — making  much  intelligible  to  the  Protestant  reader, 
which  his  '  private  judgment '  might  occasionally  have  been 
at  fault  in. 


Fundamenta  eius  in  mon- 
tibus  sanctis  :  diligit  Dom- 
inus  portas  Sion  super 
oinnia  tabernacula  lacob. 

Gloriosa  dicta  sunt  de  te, 
civitas  Dei. 

Memor  ero  Hahab  et  Ba- 
by lonis,  scientium  me. 

Ecce  alienigeme,  et  Ty- 
rus,  et  populus  ./Ethiopian 
hi  fuerunt  illic. 


Gerusalemme  e  fabbricata 
sopra  i  santi  monti :  Iddio  ne 
prende  piu  cura,  e  1'  ama  piu  die 
tucti  gli  altri  luoghi  die  dal  suo 
popolo  sono  abitati. 

Quante  cose  tutte  pic  no  di 
lode  sono  state  dette  di  voi,  citta 
di  Dio  ! 

Non  lascero  uell'  oblivione  ne 
1'  Egitto  ne  Babilonia,  dacche 
que'  popoli  mi  avranno  ricono- 
sciuto  per  loro  Dio. 

Quanti  popoli  stranieri,  Tiri, 
Etiopi,  sino  a  quel  punto  niiei 
nemici,  verranno  a  prestarmi  i 
loro  omaggi. 


*  From  the '  Uffizio  della  B.  V.  Maria,  Italiano  o  Latino,  per  tutti  i 
tempi  dell'  anno,  del  Padre  G.  Croiset,'  a  well  printed  and  most  ser- 
viceable little  duodecimo  volume,  for  any  one  wishing  to  know  some- 
what of  Roman  Catholic  offices.  Published  in  Milan  and  Venice. 


II.     LATHATOR    AXUBIS. 


?s  um<]iiid  Sion 
Homo  et  lioiiio  natus  est  in 
ca,  et  ipse  fundavit  cam 
Altissimns  ( 

Dominus  narrabit  in 
scripturis  populornin  et 
principum :  liorum  qni  fu- 
ernnt  in  ea. 

Siciit  lu'tantium  umninni 
hahitatio  est  in  te. 


Ognuno  dira,  allora :  Vcdctc 
come  questa  citta  si  e  popolata  ! 
1'  Altissiino  1'  ha  fondata  e  vuole 
metterla  iu  fiore. 

Egli  percio  e  1'  unico  die  co- 
nosca  il  numero  del  po]>olo  c  di>' 
grand!  clie  ne  sono  gli  abitanti. 


Non  vi  e  vera  fclicita,  ,<c  nmi 
per  coloro  elie  vi  hauue  1'  ubita- 
zione. 


then  the  psalm  in  these  words,  you  have  it  as 
the  Western  Christians  sang  it  ever  since  St.  Jerome  wrote 
it  into  such  interpretation  for  them  ;  and  yon  must  trv 
to  fed  it  as  tKese  Western  Christians  of  Venice  felt  it, 
having  m>\v  their  u\vn  street  in  the  holy  city,  and  their 
covenant  with  the  Prior  of  Mount  Syon,  and  of  the  Tem- 
ple of  the  Lord:  they  themselves  having  struck  down 
Tyre  with  their  own  swords,  taken  to  themselves  her 
power,  and  now  reading,  as  of  themselves,  the  encom- 
passing henediction  of  the  prophecy  for  all  Gentile 
nations,  "  Ecce  alienigeme — et  Tyrns."  A  notable  piece 
of  Scripture  for  them,  to  be  dwelt  on,  in  every  word  of  it, 
with  all  humility  of  faith. 

"What  then  •/#  the  meaning  of  the  two  verses  just  pre- 
ceding these  '.— 

"  Glorious  things  are  spoken  of  thee,  thou  City  of  God. 
I  will  make  mention  of  Rahab  and  Babylon,  with  them 
that  know  me.'' 

If  yon  like  to  see  a  curious  mistake  at  least  of  one  Prot- 
estant's 'private  judgment 'of  this  verse,  you  must  look 


22  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

at  my  reference  to  it  in  Fors  Clavigera  of  April,  1876,  p. 
110,  with  its  correction  by  Mr.  Gordon,  in  Fors  for  June, 
1876,  pp.  178-203,  all  containing  variously  useful  notes 
on  these  verses ;  of  which  the  gist  is,  however,  that 
the  '  Rahab '  of  the  Latin  text  is  the  Egyptian  '  Dragon,' 
the  crocodile,  signifying  in  myth,  which  has  now  been 
three  thousand  years  continuous  in  human  mind,  the  total 
power  of  the  crocodile-god  of  Egypt,  couchant  on  his 
slime,  born  of  it,  mistakable  for  it, — his  gray  length  of 
unintelligible  scales,  fissured  and  wrinkled  like  dry  clay, 
itself  but,  as  it  were,  a  shelf  or  shoal  of  coagulated,  malig- 
nant earth.  He  and  his  company,  the  deities  born  of  the 
earth — beast  headed, — with  only  animal  cries  for  voices  : — 

"  Omnigenumque  Deum  monstra,  et  latrator  Anubis 
Contra  Neptunum  et  Venerem,  contraque  Minervam." 

This  is  St.  Theodore's  Dragon-enemy — Egypt,  and  her 
captivity ;  bondage  of  the  earth,  literally  to  the  Israelite, 
in  making  bricks  of  it,  the  first  condition  of  form  for  the 
God :  in  sterner  than  mere  literal  truth,  the  captivity  of 
the  spirit  of  man,  whether  to  earth  or  to  its  creatures. 

And  St.  Theodore's  victory  is  making  the  earth  his 
pedestal,  instead  of  his  adversary ;  he  is  the  power  of  gen- 
tle and  rational  life,  reigning  over  the  wild  creatures  and 
senseless  forces  of  the  world.  The  Latrator  Anubis — most 
senseless  and  cruel  of  the  guardians  of  hell — becoming,  by 
human  mercy,  the  faithfullest  of  creature-friends  to  man. 

Do  you  think  all  this  work  useless  in  your  Venetian 
guide  ?  There  is  not  a  picture, — not  a  legend, — scarcely  a 
column  or  an  ornament,  in  the  art  of  Venice  or  of  Italy, 
which,  by  this  piece  of  work,  well  done,  will  not  become 
more  precious  to  you.  Have  you  ever,  for  instance,  noticed 


II.    LATKATOK    ANTBIS.  23 

ho\v  the  baying  of  Cerberus  is  stopped,  in  the  sixth  canto 
uf  Dante, — 

"  II  duca  mio 

Presc  In  terra  ;  et  con  piene  Ic  pugne 
La  gitto  dentro  alle  bramose  cainic." 

(To  the  three,  therefore  plural.)  It  is  one  of  the  innu- 
merable subtleties  which  mark  Dante's  perfect  knowledge 
—inconceivable  except  as  a  form  of  inspiration — of  the 
inner  meaning  of  every  myth,  whether  of  classic  or  Chris- 
tian theology,  known  in  his  day. 

Of  the  relation  of  the  dog,  horse,  and  eagle  to  the  chiv- 
alry of  Europe,  you  will  tind,  if  you  care  to  read,  more 
noted,  in  relation  to  part  of  the  legend  of  St.  Theodore, 
in  the  Fors  of  March,  this  year;  the  rest  of  his  legend, 
with  what  is  n-.tablest  in  his  '  Mariegola,'  I  will  tell  you 
when  we  come  to  examine  Carpaccio's  canonized  birds  and 
beasts;  of  which,  to  refresh  you  after  this  piece  of  hard 
ecclesiastical  reading  (for  I  can't  tell  you  about  the  ba>o 
of  the  pillars  to-day.  We  must  get  into  another  humor  to 
see  these),  you  may  see  within  live  minutes'  walk,  three 
together,  in  the  little  chapel  of  St.  George  of  the  Schia- 
voiii:  St.  George's  •  1'orphyrio,'  the  bird  of  chastity,  with 
the  bent  spray  of  sacred  vervain  in  its  beak,  at  the  foot  of 
the  steps  on  which  St.  George  is  baptizing  the  princess; 
St.  Jerome's  lion,  being  introduced  to  the  monastery  (with 
resultant  effect  on  the  minds  of  the  brethren) ;  and  St. 
.Jerome's  dog,  watching  his  master  translating  the  Bible 
with  highest  complacency  of  approval. 

And  of  St.  Theodore  himself  you  may  be  glad  to  know 
that  he  was  a  very  historical  and  substantial  saint  as  late 
a>  the  fifteenth  century,  for  in  the  Inventory  of  the  goods 
and  chattels  of  his  scuola,  made  by  order  of  its  master 


24  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

(Gastoldo),  and  the  companions,  in  the  year  1450,  the  first 
article  is  the  body  of  St.  Theodore,  with  the  bed  it  lies  on, 
covered  by  a  coverlid  of  "pafio  di  grano  di  seta,  brocado 
deorofino."  So  late  as  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury (certified  by  the  inventario  fatto  a  di  XXX.  de 
Xovembrio  MCCCCL.  per.  Sr  nanni  di  piero  de  la 
col5na,  Gastoldo,  e  suoi  campagni,  de  tntte  reliquie  e 
arnesi  e  beni,  se  trova  in  questa  hora  presente  in  la  nostra 
scnola),  here  lay  this  treasure,  dear  to  the  commercial 
heart  of  Venice. 

Oh,  good  reader,  who  hast  ceased  to  count  the  Dead 
bones  of  men  for  thy  treasure,  hast  thoii  then  thy  Dead 
laid  up  in  the  hands  of  the  Living  God  ? 


CHAPTER  III. 

ST.    JAMES    OF   THE   DEEP   STREAM. 

TWICE  one  is  two,  and  twice  two  is  four ;  but  twice  one 
is  not  three,  and  twice  two  is  not  six,  whatever  Shy  lock 
may  wish,  or  say,  in  the  matter.  In  wholesome  memory  of 
which  arithmetical,  and  (probably)  eternal,  fact,  and  in 
loyal  defiance  of  Shylock  and  his  knife,  I  write  down  for 
you  these  figures,  large  and  plain : 

1.  2.  4. 

Also  in  this  swiftly  progressive  ratio,  the  figures  may 
express  what  modern  philosophy  considers  the  rate  of  pro- 
gress of  Venice,  from  her  days  of  religion,  and  golden 
ducats,  to  her  days  of  infidelity,  and  paper  notes. 

Read  them  backwards,  then,  sublime  modern  philoso- 
pher; and  they  will  give  you  the  date  of  the  birth  of  that 
foolish  Venice  of  old  time,  on  her  narrow  island. 

4.  2.  1. 

In  that  year,  and  on  the  very  day — (little  foolish  Venice 
used  to  say,  when  she  was  a  very  child), — in  which,  once 
upon  a  time,  the  world  was  made ;  and,  once  upon  another 
time — the  Ave  Maria  first  said, — the  first  stone  of  Venice 
was  laid  on  the  sea  sand,  in  the  name  of  St.  James  the 
fisher. 

I  think  you  had  better  go  and  see  with  your  own  e\c-. 
— tread  with  your  own  foot, — the  spot  of  her  nativity  :  .-<> 


26  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

much  of  a  spring  day  as  the  task  will  take,  cannot  often 
be  more-  profitably  spent,  nor  more  affectionately  towards 
God  and  man,  if  indeed  you  love  either  of  them. 

So,  from  the  Grand  Hotel, — or  the  Swiss  Pension — or 
the  duplicate  Danieli  with  the  drawbridge, — or  wherever 
else  among  the  palaces  of  resuscitated  Venice  you  abide, 
congratulatory  modern  ambassador  to  the  Venetian  Sen- 
ate,— please,  to-day,  walk  through  the  Merceria,  and 
through  the  Square  of  St.  Bartholomew,  where  is  the  little 
octagon  turret-chapel  in  the  centre,  for  sale  of  news :  and 
cross  the  Rialto — not  in  the  middle  of  it,  but  on  the  right 
hand  side,  crossing  from  St.  Mark's.  You  will  probably 
find  it  very  dirty, — it  may  be,  indecently  dirty, — -that  is 
modern  progress,  and  Mr.  Buckle's  civilization ;  rejoice  in 
it  with  a  thankful  heart,  and  stay  in  it  placidly,  after  cross- 
ing the  height  of  the  bridge,  when  you  come  down  just  on 
a  level  with  the  capitals  of  the  first  story  of  the  black  and 
white,  all  but  ruined,  Palace  of  the  Camerlenghi ;  Trea- 
surers of  Venice,  built  for  them  when  she  began  to  feel 
anxious  about  her  accounts.  '  Black  and  white,'  I  call  it, 
because  the  dark  lichens  of  age  are  yet  on  its  marble — or, 
at  least,  were,  in  the  winter  of  '76-'77 ;  it  may  be,  even 
before  these  pages  get  printed,  it  will  be  scraped  and  re- 
gilt — or  pulled  down,  to  make  a  railroad  station  at  the 
Rialto. 

Here  standing,  if  with  good  eyes,  or  a  good  opera  glass, 
you  look  back,- up  to  the  highest  story  of  the  blank  and 
ugly  building  on  the  side  of  the  canal  you  have  just  crossed 
from, — you  will  see  between  two  of  its  higher  windows, 
the  remains  of  a  fresco  of  a  female  figure.  It  is,  so  far  as 
I  know,  the  last  vestige  of  the  noble  fresco  painting  of 
Venice  on  her  outside  walls; — Giorgione's, — no  less,— 


III.    ST.    JAMES   OF  THE   DEEP   STREAM.  27 

when  Titian  and  he  were  house-painters, — the  Sea-Queen 
so  ranking  them,  for  her  pomp,  in  her  proud  days.  Of 
this,  and  of  the  black  and  white  palace,  we  will  talk 
another  day.  I  only  asked  you  to  look  at  the  fresco  just 
now,  because  therein  is  seen  tbe  end  of  my  Venice, — the 
Venice  I  have  to  tell  you  of.  Yours,  of  the  Grand  Hotels 
and  the  Peninsular  steamers,  you  may  write  the  history  of, 
I'm-  yourself. 

Therein, — as  it  fades  away — ends  the  Venice  of  St. 
Mark's  Rest.  But  where  she  was  born,  you  may  now  go 
quite  down  the  steps  to  see.  Down,  and  through  among 
the  fruit-stalls  into  the  little  square  on  the  right ;  then 
turning  back,  the  low  portico  is  in  front  of  you — not  of 
the  ancient  church  indeed,  but  of  a  fifteenth  century  one 
— variously  translated,  in  succeeding  times,  into  such  small 
picturesqueness  of  stage  effect  as  it  yet  possesses ;  escap- 
ing, by  God's  grace,  however,  the  fire  which  destroyed  all 
the  other  buildings  of  ancient  Venice,  round  her  Rialto 
square,  in  1513.* 

Some  hundred  or  hundred  aiid  fifty  years  before  that, 
Venice  had  begun  to  suspect  the  bodies  of  saints  to  In-  a 
poor  property;  carrion,  in  fact,— and  not  even  exchange- 
able carrion.  Living  flesh  might  be  bought  instead, — per- 
haps of  prettier  aspect.  So,  as  I  said,  for  a  hundred  years 
or  so,  she  had  brought  home  no'  relics, — but  set  her  mind 
on  trade-profits,  and  other  practical  matters;  tending  to 
the  achievement  of  wealth,  and  its  comforts,  and  dignities. 
The  curious  result  being,  that  at  that  particular  monlent, 
when  the  fire  devoured  her  merchants'  square,  centre  of  the 

*  Many  chronicles  speak  of  it  as  burned  ;  but  the  authoritative  in- 
scription of  1601  speaks  of  it  as  'consumed  by  age,' and  is  therefore 
conclusive  on  this  point. 


28  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

then  mercantile  world — she  happened  to  have  no  money  in 
her  pocket  to  build  it  again  with  ! 

Nor  were  any  of  her  old  methods  of  business  again  to 
be  resorted  to.  Her  soldiers  were  now  foreign  mercena- 
ries, and  had  to  be  paid  before  they  would  light ;  and 
prayers,  she  had  found  out  long  before  our  English 
wiseacre  apothecaries'  apprentices,  were  of  no  use  to  get 
either  money,  or  new  houses  with,  at  a  pinch  like  this. 
And  there  was  really  nothing  for  it  but  doing  the  thing 
cheap, — since  it  had  to  be  done.  Fra  Giocondo  of  Verona 
offered  her  a  fair  design ;  but  the  city  could  not  afford 
it.  Had  to  take  Scarpagnino's  make-shift  instead;  and 
with  his  help,  and  Sansovino's,  between  1520  and  1550, 
she  just  managed  to  botch  up— what  you  see  surround  the 
square,  of  architectural  stateliness  for  her  mercantile  home. 
Discovery  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  the  main  cause  of 
these  sorrowful  circumstances  of  hers, — observe  sagacious 
historians. 

At  all  events,  I  have  no  doubt  the  walls  were  painted 
red,  with  some  medallions,  or  other  cheap  decoration, 
under  the  cornices,  enough  to  make  the  little  square  look 
comfortable.-  Whitewashed  and  squalid  now — it  may  be 
left,  for  this  time,  without  more  note  of  it,  as  we  turn  to 
the  little  church.* 

Your  Murray  tells  you  it  was  built  "in  its  present 
form"  in  1194,  and  "  rebuilt  in  1531,  but  precisely  ui  the 
old  form,"  and  that  it  "  has  a  iine  brick  campanile."  The 
fine  'brick  campanile,  visible,  if  you  look  behind  you,  on 


*  Do  not,  if  you  will  trust  me,  at  this  time  let  your  guide  take  you  •• 
look  at  the  Uobbo  di  Rialto,  or  otherwise  interfere  with  your  immrdia' 
business. 


III.    ST.    JAMES   OF   THE    DEEP   STREAM.  29 

the  other  side  of  the  street,  belongs  to  the  church  of  St. 
John  Elemosinario.  And  the  statement  that  the  church 
was  k-  rebuilt  in  precisely  the  old  form"  must  also  be  re- 
ceived with  allowances.  For  the  "campanile"  here,  is  in 
the  most  orthodox  English  Jacobite  style  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  the  portico  is  Venetian  fifteenth,  the  walls  are 
in  no  style  at  all,  and  the  little  Madonna  inserted  in 
the  middle  of  them  is  an  exquisitely  finished  piece  of  the 
finest  work  of  1320  to  1350. 

And,  alas,  the  church  is  not  only  quite  other  in  form, 
but  even  other  in  place,  than  it  was  in  the  fifth  century, 
having  been  moved  like  a  bale  of  goods,  and  with  ap- 
parently as  little  difficulty  as  scruple,  in  1322,  on  a  report 
of  the  Salt  Commissioners  about  the  crowding  of  shops 
round  it.  And,  in  sum,  of  particulars  of  authentically 
certified  vicissitudes,  the  little  church  has  gone  through 
these  following — how  many  more  than  these,  one  cannot 
say — but  these  at  least  (see  Appendix  III.) : 

I.  Founded  traditionally  in  421  (serious  doubts  whether 
on  Friday  or  Saturday,  involving  others  about  the  year 
itself).     The  tradition  is  all  we  need  care  for. 

II.  Rebuilt,  and   adorned  with  Greek  mosaic  work  by 
the  Doge  Domenico  Selvo,  in   1073 ;  the  Doge  having 
married  a  Greek  wife,  and  liking  pretty  things.     Of  this 
husband  and  wife  you  shall  hear  more,  anon. 

III.  Retouched,   and  made  bright  again,  getting  also 
its  due  share  of  the  spoil  of  Byzantium  sent  home  by 
Henry  I  )andolo,  1174. 

IY.  Dressed  up  again,  and  moved  out  of  the  buyers' 
and  sellers'  way,  in  ].">22. 

Y.  '  Instaurated '  into  a  more  splendid  church  (dicto 
templo  in  splendidiorem  ecclesiam  instaurato)  by  the 


30  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

elected  plebanus,  Natalis  Regia,  desirous  of  having  the 
church  devoted  to  his  honor  instead  of  St.  James's,  1531. 

VI.  Lifted  up  (and  most  likely  therefore  first  much 
pulled  down),  to  keep  the  water  from  coming  into  it,  in 
1601,  when  the  double  arched  campanile  was  built,  and 
the  thing  finally-  patched  together  in  the  present  form. 
Doubtless,  soon,  by  farther  '  -progresso '  to  become  a  pro- 
vision, or,,  perhaps,  a  petroleum-store,  Venice  having  no 
more  need  of  temples  ;  and  being,  as  far  as  I  can  observe, 
ashamed  of  having  so  many,  overshadowing  her  buyers 
and  sellers.  Better  rend  the  veils  in  twain  forever,  if 
convenient  storeshops  may  be  formed  inside. 

These,  then,  being  authentic  epochs  of  change,  you 
may  decipher  at  ease  the  writing  of  each  of  them, — what 
is  left  of  it.  The  campanile  with  the  ugly  head  in  the 
centre  of  it  is  your  final  Art  result,  1601.  The  portico  in 
front  of  you  is  Natalis  Regia' s  '  instantiation '  of  the 
church  as  it  stood  after  1322,  retaining  the  wooden  sim- 
plicities of  bracket  above  the  pillars  of  the  early  loggia ; 
the  Madonna,  as  I  said,  is  a  piece  of  the  1320  to  1350 
work  ;  and  of  earlier  is  no  vestige  here.  But  if  you  will 
walk  twenty  steps  round  the  church,  at  the  back  of  it,  on 
the  low  gable,  you  wrill  see  an  inscription  in  firmly  graven 
long  Roman  letters,  under  a  cross,  similarly  inscribed. 

That  is  a  vestige  of  the  eleventh  century  church ;  nay, 
more  than  vestige,  the  Voice  of  it — Sibylline, — left  when 
its  body  had  died.' 

Which  I  will  ask  you  to  hear,  in  a  little  while.  But 
first  you  shall  see  also  a  few  of  the  true  stones  of  the 
older  Temple.  Enter  it  now  ;  and  reverently ;  for 
though  at  first,  amidst  wretched  whitewash  and  stucco, 
you  will  scarcely  see  the  true  marble,  those  six  pillars 


III.    ST.    JAMES   OF   THE   DEEP   STREAM.  31 

and  their  capitals  are  yet  actual  remnants  and  material 
marble  of  the  venerable  church ;  probably  once  extend- 
ing into  more  arches  in  the  nave ;  but  this  transept  ceil- 
ing of  wagon  vault,  with  the  pillars  that  carry  it,  is  true 
remnant  of  a  mediaeval  church,  and,  in  all  likelihood,  true 
image  of  the  earliest  of  all— of  the  first  standard  of 
Venice,  planted,  under  which  to  abide;  the  Cross,  en- 
graven on  the  sands  thus  in  relief,  with  two  little  pieces 
of  Roman  vaulting,  set  cross  wise  ; — your  modern  engi- 
neers will  soon  make  as  large,  in  portable  brickwork,  for 
London  drains,  admirable,  worshipful,  for  the  salvation  of 
London  mankind : — here  artlessly  rounded,  and  with 
small  cupola  above  the  crossing. 

Thus  she  set  her  sign  upon  the  shore  ;  some  knot  of 
gelatinous  sea  \\Ved  there  checking  the  current  of  the 
'  Deep  Stream,'  which  sweeps  round,  as  you  see,  in  that 
sigma  of  canal,  as  the  Wharfe  round  the  shingly  bank  of 
Bolton  Abbey, — a  notablest  Crook  of  Lime,  this ;  and 
Castrum,  here,  on  sands  that  will  abide. 

It  is  strange  how  seldom  rivers  have  been  named  from 
their  depth.  Mostly  they  take  at  once  some  dear,  com- 
panionable name,  and  become  gods,  or  at  least  living 
creatures,  to  their  refreshed  people  ;  if  not  thus  Pagan- 
named,  they  are  noted  by  their  color,  or  their  purity, — 
White  River,  Black  River,  Rio  Verde,  Aqua  Dolce, 
Fiume  di  Latte;  but  scarcely  ever,  'Deep  River.' 

And  this  Venetian  slow-pacing  water,  not  so  much  as 
a  river,  or  any  thing  like  one;  but  a  rivulet,  ' fiumicello,' 
only,  rising  in  those  low  mounds  of  volcanic  hill  to  the 
west.  "  '  Rialto,'  '  Rialtum,'  '  /Vealtum  '  "  (another  idea 
getting  confused  with  the  first),  "  dal  fiumicello  di  cgnal 
nome  che,  scendendo  dei  colli  Euganei  gettavasi  nel 


32  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

Brenta,  con  esso  scorrendo  luugo  quelle  isole  dette  ap- 
punto  Realtine."*  The  serpentine  depth,  consistent 
always  among  consistent  shallow,  being  here  vital ;  and 
the  conception  of  it  partly  mingled  with  that  of  the 
power  of  the  open  sea — the  infinite  '  Altum  ;'  sought  by 
the  sacred  water,  as  in  theMream  of  Eneas,  "  lacu  fluvius 
se  condidit  alto."  Hence  the  united  word  takes,  in  de- 
clining Latin,  the  shorter  form,  "Rialtum, — properly,  in 
the  scholarship  of  the  State-documents,  '  Rivoalt^s.'  So 
also,  throughout  Venice,  the  Latin  Rivus  softens  into 
Rio ;  the  Latin  Ripa  into  Riva,  in  the  time  when  you 
had  the  running  water — not  '  canals,'  but  running  brooks 
of  sea, — '  lympha  f  ugax,' — trembling  in  eddies,  between, 
not  quays,  but  banks  of  pasture  land ;  soft  '  campi,'  of 
which,  in  St.  Margaret's  field,  I  have  but  this  autumn 
seen  the  last  worn  vestige  trodden  away ;  and  yesterday, 
Feb.  26th,  in  the  morning,  a  little  tree  that  was  pleasant 
to  me  taken  up  from  before  the  door,  because  it  had 
heaved  the  pavement  an  inch  or  two  out  of  square ;  also 
beside  the  Academy,  a  little  overhanging  momentary 
shade  of  boughs  hewn  away, '  to  make  the  street  "  bello,"  ' 
said  the  axe-bearer.  '  What,'  I  asked,  '  will  it  be  prettier 
in  summer  without  its  trees  ? '  '  Non  x'e  bello  il  verde,' 
he  answered.f  True  oracle,  though  he  knew  not  what 

*  Romanin. 

f  I  observe  the  good  people  of  Edinburgh  have  the  same  taste ;  and 
rejoice  proudly  at  having  got  an  asphalt  esplanade  at  the  end  of 
Prince's  Street,  instead  of  cabbage-sellers.  Alas  !  my  Scottish  friends  ; 
all  that  Prince's  Street  of  yours  has  not  so  much  beauty  in  it  as  a 
single  cabbage-stalk,  if  you  had  eyes  in  your  heads, — rather  the  ex- 
treme reverse  of  beauty  ;  and  there  is  not  one  of  the  lassies  who  now 
stagger  up  and  down  the  burning  marie  in  high-heeled  boots  and 
French  bonnets,  who  would  not  look  a  thousand-fold  prettier,  and 


III.   ST.   JAMES  OF  THE   DEEP   STREAM.  33 

lie  said;  voice  of  the  modern  Church  of  Venice  rank- 
ing herself  under  the  black  standard  of  the  pit. 

1  said  you  should  hear  the  oracle  of  her  ancient 
Church  in  a  little  while ;  but  you  must  know  why,  and 
to  whom  it  was  spoken,  first, — and  we  must  leave  the 
Rialto  for  to-day.  Look,  as  you  recross  its  bridge,  west- 
ward, along  the  broad-flowing  stream ;  and  come  here 
also,  this  evening,  if  the  day  sets  calm,  for  then  the 
waves  of  it  from  the  Rialto  island  to  the  Ca  Foscari,  glow 
like  an  Eastern  tapestry  in  soft-flowing  crimson,  fretted 
with  gold  ;  and  beside  them,  amidst  the  tumult  of  squalid 
ruin,  remember  the  words  that  are  the  '  burden  of 
Venice,'  as  of  Tyre  : — 

"  Be  still,  ye  inhabitants  of  the  Isle.  Thou  whom  the 
merchants  of  Zidon,  that  pass  over  the  sea,  have  re- 
plenished. By  great  waters,  the  seed  of  Sihor,  the 
harvest  of  the  river,  is  her  revenue  ;  and  she  is  a  mart  of 
nations." 

feel,  there's  no  countirg  how  much  nobler,  bare-headed  but  for  the 
snood,  and  bare-foot  on  old-faehioned  grass  by  the  Nor'  loch  side, 
bringing  home  from  market,  basket  on  arm,  pease  for  papa's  dinner, 
and  a  bunch  of  cherries  for  baby. 


CHAPTER  IY. 

ST.    THEODORE    THE    CHAIR-SELLER. 

THE  history  of  Venice  divides  itself,  with  more  sharp- 
ness than  any  other  I  have  read,  into  periods  of  distinct 
tendency  and  character;  marked,  in  their  transition,  by 
phenomena  no  less  definite  than  those  of  the  putting 
forth  the  leaves,  or  setting  of  the  fruit,  in  a  plant ; — and 
as  definitely  connected  by  one  vitally  progressive  organ- 
ization, of  which  the  energy  must  be  studied  in  its  con- 
stancy, while  its  results  are  classed  in  grouped  system. 

If  we  rightly  trace  the  -order,  and  estimate  the  dura- 
tion, of  such  periods,  we  understand  the  life,  whether  of 
an  organized  being  or  a  state.  But  not  to  know  the  time 
when  the  seed  is  ripe,  or  the  soul  mature,  is  to  misunder- 
stand the  total  creature. 

In  the  history  of  great  multitudes,  these  changes  of 
their  spirit,  and  regenerations  (for  they  are  nothing  less)  of 
their  physical  power,  take  place  through  so  subtle  grada- 
tions "of  declining  and  dawning  thought,  that  the  effort 
to  distinguish  them  seems  arbitrary,  like  separating  the 
belts  of  a  rainbow's  color  by  firmly  drawn  lines.  But, 
at  Venice,  the  lines  are  drawn  for  us  by  her  own  hand ; 
and  the  changes  in  her  temper  are  indicated  by  parallel 
modifications  of  her  policy  and  constitution,  to  which  his- 
torians have  always  attributed,  as  to  efficient  causes,  the 
national  fortunes  of  which  they  are  only  the  signs  and 
limitation. 


IV.    ST.    THEODORE   THE   CHAIR-SELLER  35 

In  this  history,  the  reader  will  find  little  importance  at- 
tached to  these  external  phenomena  of  political  constitu- 
tion ;  except  as  labels,  or,  it  may  be,  securing  seals,  of  the 
state  of  the  nation's  heart.  They  are  merely  shapes  of 
amphora,  artful  and  decorative  indeed;  tempting  to  criti- 
cism or  copy  of  their  form,  usefully  recordant  of  differ- 
ent ages  of  the  wine,  and  having  occasionally,  by  the 
porousness  or  perfectness  of  their  clay,  effect  also  on 
its  quality.  But  it  is  the  grape-juice  itself,  and  the 
changes  in  it,  not  in  the  forms  of  flask,  that  we  have  in 
reality  to  study. 

Fortunately  also,  the  dates  of  the  great  changes  are 
easily  remembered  ;  they  fall  with  felicitous  precision  at 
the  beginning  of  centuries,  and  divide  the  story  of  the 
city,  as  the  pillars  of  her  Byzantine  courts,  the  walls  of  it, 
with  symmetric  stability. 

She  shall  also  tell  you,  as  I  promised,  her  own  story,  in 
her  own  handwriting,  all  through.  Not  a  word  shall 
I  have  to  say  in  the  matter ;  or  aught  to  do,  except  to 
deepen  the  letters  for  you  when  they  are  indistinct,  and 
sometimes  to  hold  a  blank  space  of  her  chart  of  life  to 
the  fire  of  your  heart  for  a  little  while,  until  words,  writ- 
ten secretly  upon  it,  are  seen ; — if,  at  least,  there  is  fire 
enough  in  your  own  heart  to  heat  them. 

And  first,  therefore,  I  must  try  what  power  of  reading 
you  have,  when  the  letters  are  quite  clear.  "We  will  take 
to-day,  so  please  you,  the  same  walk  we  did  yesterday  ; 
but  looking  at  other  things,  and  reading  a  wider  lesson. 

As  early  as  you  can  (in  fact,  to  get  the  good  of  this 
walk,  you  must  be  up  with  the  sun),  any  bright  morning, 
when  the  streets  are  quiet,  come  with  me  to  the  front  of 
St.  Mark's,  to  begin  our  lesson  there. 


36  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

You  see  that  between  the  arches  of  its  vaults,  there  are 
six  oblong  panels  of  bas-relief. 

Two  of  these  are  the  earliest  pieces  of  real  Venetian 
work  I  know  of,  to  show  you ;  but  before  beginning 
with  them,  you  must  see  a  piece  done  by  her  Greek  mas- 
ters. 

Go  round  therefore  to  the  side  farthest  from  the  sea, 
where,  in  the  first  broad  arch,  you  will  see  a  panel  of  like 
shape,  set  horizontally ;  the  sculpture  of  which  represents 
twelve  sheep,  six  on  one  side,  six  on  the  other,  of  a 
throne :  on  which  throne  is  set  a  cross  ;  and  on  the  top  of 
the  cross  a  circle ;  and  in  the  circle,  a  little  caprioling 
creature. 

And  outside  of  all,  are  two  palm  trees,  one  on  each 
side ;  and  under  each  palm  tree,  two  baskets  of  dates ; 
and  over  the  twelve  sheep,  is  written  in  delicate  Greek 
letters  "  The  holy  Apostles  ;"  and  over  the  little  caprioling 
creature,  "  The  Lamb." 

Take  your  glass  and  study  the  carving  of  this  bas-relief 
intently.  It  is  full  of  sweet  care,  subtlety,  tenderness  of 
touch,  and  mind  ;  and  fine  cadence  and  change  of  line  in 
the  little  bowing  heads  and  bending  leaves.  Decorative 
in  the  extreme ;  a  kind  of  stone-stitching,  or  sampler- 
work,  done  with  the  innocence  of  a  girl's  heart,  and  in  a 
like  unlearned  fulness.  Here  is  a  Christian  man,  bringing 
order  and  loveliness  into  the  mere  furrows  of  stone.  Not 
by  any  means  as  learned  as  a  butcher,  in  the  joints  of 
lambs ;  nor  as  a  grocer,  in  baskets  of  dates  ;  nor  as  a 
gardener,  in  endogenous  plants :  but  an  artist  to  the 
heart's  core ;  and  no  less  true  a  lover  of  Christ  and  His 
word.  Helpless,  with  his  childish  art,  to  carve  Christ,  he 
carves  a  cross,  and  caprioling  little  thing  in  a  ring  at  the 


IV.    ST.   THEODORE   THE   CHAIR-SELLER.  37 

top  of  it.  You  may  try — you — to  carve  Christ,  if  you 
can.  Helpless  to  conceive  the  Twelve  Apostles,  these 
nevertheless  are  sacred  letters  for  the  bearers  of  the  Gos- 
pel of  Peace. 

Of  such  men  Venice  learned  to  touch  the  stone ; — to 
become  a  Lapieida,  and  furrower  of  the  marble  as  well  as 
the  sea. 

Xo\v  let  us  go  back  to  that  panel  on  the  left"  side  of  the 
central  arch  in  front.* 

This,  you  see,  is  no  more  a  symbolical  sculpture,  but 
quite  distinctly  pictorial,  and  laboriously  ardent  to  ex- 
pre>s,  though  in  very  low  relief,  a  curly-haired  personage, 
handsome,  and  something  like  George  the  Fourth,  dressed 
in  richest  Roman  armor,  and  sitting  in  an  absurd  manner, 
more  or  less  tailor-fashion,  if  not  cross-legged  himself,  at 
least  on  a  conspicuously  cross-legged  piece  of  splendid  fur- 
niture ;  which,  after  deciphering  the  Chinese,  or  engi- 
neer's isometrical,  perspective  of  it,  you  may  perceive  to 
be  only  a  gorgeous  pic-nic  or  drawing-stool,  apparently  of 
portable  character,  such  as  are  bought  (more  for  luxury 
than  labor, — for  the  real  working  apparatus  is  your  tri- 
pod) at  .'Miw-rs.  Newman's,  or  AVinsor  and  Newton's. 

Apparently  portable,  I  say  ;  by  no  means  intended  as 

*  Generally  note,  when  I  say  '  right '  or  '  left '  side  of  a  church  or 
chapel,  I  mean,  either  as  you  enter,  or  as  you  look  to  the  altar.  It  is 
not  safe  to  say  '  north  and  south,'  for  Italian  churches  stand  all  round 
tin-  cnmpui-s  ;  and  besides,  the  phrase  would  be  false  of  lateral  chapels. 
TraiiM-pts  an-  awkward,  because  often  they  have  an  altar  instead  of  an 
entrance  at  their  ends  ;  it  will  be  least  confusing  to  treat  them  always 
as  large  la-teral  chapels,  and  place  them  in  the  series  of  such  chapels 
at  the  sides  of  the  nave,  calling  the  sides  right  and  left  as  you  look 
either  from  the  nave  into  the  chapels,  or  from  the  nave's  centre  to  the 
rose  window,  or  other  termination  of  transept. 


38  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

such  by  the  sculptor.  Intended  for  a  most  permanent 
and  magnificent  throne  of  state ;  nothing  less  than  a  de- 
rived form  of  that  Greek  Thronos,  in  which  you  have  seen 
set  the  cross  of  the  Lamb.  Yes ;  and  of  the  Tyrian  and 
Jndsean  Thronos — Solomon's,  which  it  frightened  the 
queen  of  Sheba  to  see  him  sitting  on.  Yes ;  and  of  the 
Egyptian  throne  of  eternal  granite,  on  which  colossal 
Memnon  sits,  melodious  to  morning  light, — son  of  Au-, 
rora.  Yes;  and  of  the  throne  of  Isis-Madomm,  and, 
mightier  yet  than  she,  as  we  return  towards  the  nativitj 
of  queens  and  kings.  We  must  keep  at  present  to  oui 
own  poor  little  modern,  practical  saint — sitting  on  his. 
portable  throne  (as  at  the  side  of  the  opera  when  extra 
people  are  let  in  who  shouldn't  be) ;  only  seven  hundred 
years  old.  To  this  cross-legged  apparatus  the  Egyptian 
throne  had  dwindled  down  ;  it  looks  even  as  if  the  saint 
who  sits  on  it  might  begin  to  think  about  getting  up 
some  day  or  other. 

All  the  more  when  you  know  who  he  is.  Can  you 
read  the  letters  of  his  name,  written  beside  him  ? — 

SCS  UEORGIVS 

— Mr.  Emerson's  purveyor  of  bacon,  no  less!  *  And  he 
does  look  like  getting  up,  when  you  observe  him  farther. 
Unsheathing  his  sword,  is  not  he? 

No  ;  sheathing  it.  That  was  the  difficult  thing  he  had 
first  to  do,  as  you  will  find  on  reading  the  true  legend  of 
him,  which  this  sculptor  thoroughly  knew  ;  in  whose  con- 
ception of  the  saint  one  perceives  the  date  of  said.sculp- 

*  See  Fors  Clavigera  of  February,  1873,  containing  the  legend  of  St. 
G  orge.  This,  with  the  other  numbers  of  Fors  referred  to  in  the  text 
ut  '  St.  Mark's  Rest,'  may  be  bought  at  Venice,  together  with  it. 


IV.    ST.   THEODOKE   THE   CHAIR-SELLER.  39 

tor,  no  less  than  in  the  stiff  work,  so  dimly  yet  perceptive  of 
the  ordinary  laws  of  the  aspect  of  things.  From  the  bas- 
reliefs  of  the  Parthenon — through  sixteen  hundred  years 
of  effort,  and  speech-making,  and  fighting — human  intel- 
ligence in  the  Arts  has  arrived,  here  in  Venice,  thus  far. 
But  having  got  so  far,  we  shall  come  to  something  fresh 
soon  !  "We  have  become  distinctly  representative  again, 
you  see  ;  desiring  to  show,  not  a  mere  symbol  of  a  living 
man,  but  the  man  himself,  as  truly  as  the  poor  stone- 
cutter can  carve  him.  All  bonds  of  tyrannous  tradition 
broken  ; — the  legend  kept,  in  faith  yet ;  but  the  symbol 
become  natural ;  a  real  armed  knight,  the  best  he  could 
form  a  notion  of ;  curly-haired  and  handsome ;  and,  his 
also  the  boast  of  Dogberry,  every  thing  handsome  about 
him.  Thus  far  has  Venice  got  in  her  art  schools  of  the 
early  thirteenth  century.  I  can  date  this  sculpture  to 
that  time,  pretty  closely  ;  earlier,  it  may  be, — not  later  ; 
see  afterwards  the  notes  closing  this  chapter. 

And  now,  if  you  so  please,  we  will  walk  under  the 
clock-tower,  and  down  the  Merceria,  as  straight  as  we  can 
go.  There  is  a  little  crook  to  the  right,  bringing  us  op- 
posite St.  Julian's  church  (which,  please,  don't  stop  to 
look  at  just  now) ;  then,  sharply,  to  the  left  again,  and  we 
come  to  the  Ponte  de'  Baratteri, — "  Kogue's  Bridge" — on 
which,  as  especially  a  grateful  bridge  to  English  business- 
feelings,  let  us  reverently  pause.  It  has  been  widened 
lately,  you  observe, — the  use  of  such  bridge  being  greatly 
increased  in  these  times ;  and  in  a  convenient  angle,  out 
of  passenger  current  (may  you  find  such  wayside  with- 
drawal in  true  life),  you  may  stop  to  look  back  at  the  house 
immediately  above  the  bridge. 

In  the  wall  of  which  you  will  see  a  horizontal  panel  of 


4:0  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

bas-relief,  with  two  shields  on  each  side,  bearing  six  fleur- 
de-lys.  And  this  you  need  not,  I  suppose,  look  for  letters 
on,  to  tell  you  its  subject.  Here  is  St.  George  indeed  !— 
our  own  beloved  old  sign  of  the  George  and  Dragon,  all 
correct ;  and,  if  you  know  your  Seven  champions,  Sabra 
too,  on  the  rock,  thrilled  witness  of  the  fight.  And  see 
what  a  dainty  St.  George,  too !  Here  is  no  mere  tailor's 
enthronement.  Eques,  ipso  melior  Bellerophonti, — how 
he  sits  ! — how  he  holds  his  lance  ! — how  brightly  youthful 
the  crisp  hair  under  his  light  cap  of  helm, — how  deftly 
curled  the  fringe  of  his  horse's  'crest, — how  vigorous  in 
disciplined  career  of  accustomed  conquest,  the  two  noble 
living  creatures !  This  is  Venetian  fifteenth  century 
work  of  finest  style.  Outside-of -house  work,  of  course  : 
we  compare  at  present  outside  work  only,  panel  with 
panel :  but  here  are  three  hundred  years  of  art  progress 
written  for  you,  in  two  pages, — from  early  thirteenth  to 
late  fifteenth  century  ;  and  in  this  little  bas-relief  is  all  to 
be  seen,  that  can  be,  of  elementary  principle,  in  the  very 
crest  and  pride  of  Venetian  sculpture, — of  which  note 
these  following  points. 

First,  the  aspirations  of  the  front  of  St.  Mark's  have 
been  entirely  achieved,  and  though  the  figure  is  still  sym- 
bolical, it  is  now  a  symbol  consisting  in  the  most  literal 
realization  possible  of  natural  facts.  That  is  the  way,  if 
you  care  to  see  it,  that  a  young  knight  rode,  in  1480,  or 
thereabouts.  So,  his  foot  was  set  in  stirrup, — so  his  body 
borne, — so  trim  and  true  and  orderly  every  thing  in  his 
harness  and  his  life  :  and  this  rendered,  observe,  with  the 
most  consummate  precision  of  artistic  touch.  Look  at  tlr.- 
strap  of  the  stirrup, — at  the  little  delicatest  line  of  tli 
spur, — can  you  think  they  are  stone  ?  don't  they  look  likj 


IV.    ST.   THEODORE   THE   CHAIR-SELLER.  41 

leather  and  steel  ?  His  flying  mantle, — is  it  not  silk  more 
than  marble  ?  That  is  all  in  the  beautiful  doing  of  it : 
precision  first  in  exquisite  sight  of  the  thing  itself,  and 
understanding  of  the  qualities  and  signs,  whether  of  .silk 
or  steel ;  and  then,  precision  of  touch,  and  cunning  in  use 
of  material,  which  it  had  taken  three  hundred  years  to 
learn.  Think  what  cunning  there  is  in  getting  such  ed^v 
to  the  marble  as  will  represent  the  spur  line,  or  strap 
leather,  with  such  solid  under-support  that,  from  1480  till 
now,  it  stands  rain  and  frost!  And  for  knowledge  of 
form, — look  at  the  way  the  little  princess's  foot  comes  out 
under  the  drapery  as  she  shrinks  back.  Look  at  it  first 
from  the  left,  to  see  how  it  is  foreshortened,  flat  on  the 
rock  ;  then  from  the  right,  to  see  the  curve  of  dress  up 
the  limb : — think  of  the  difference  between  this  and  the 
feet  of  poor  St.  George  Sartor  of  St.  Mark's,  pointed  down 
all  their  length.  Finally,  see  how  studious  the  whole 
thing  is  of  beauty  in  every  part, — how  it  expects  you  also 
to  be  studious.  Trace  the  rich  tresses  of  the  princess's 
hair,  wrought  where  the  figure  melts  into  shadow ; — the 
sharp  edges  of  the  dragon's  mail,  slipping  over  each  other 
as  he  wrings  neck  and  coils  tail ; — nay,  what  decorative 
ordering  and  symmetry  is  even  in  the  roughness  of  the 
ground  and  rock !  And  lastly,  see  how  the  whole  piece 
of  work,  to  the  simplest  frame  of  it,  must  be  by  the  sculp- 
tor's own  hand  :  see  how  he  breaks  the  line  of  his  panel 
moulding  with  the  princess's  hair,  with  St.  George's  hel- 
met, with  the  rough  ground  itself  at  the  base; — the  entire 
tablet  varied  to  its  utmost  edge,  delighted  in  and  ennobled 
to  its  extreme  limit  of  substance. 

Here,  then,  as  I  said,  is  the  top  of  Venetian  sculpture- 
art.     Was  there  no  going  beyond  this,  think  you  ? 


42  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

Assuredly,  much  beyond  this  the  Venetian  could  have 
gone,  had  he  gone  straight  forward.  But  at  this  point  he 
became  perverse,  and  there  is  one  sign  of  evil  in  this  piece, 
which  you  must  carefully  discern. 

In  the  two  earlier  sculptures,  of  the  sheep,  and  the 
throned  St.  George,  the  artist  never  meant  to  say  that 
twelve  sheep  ever  stood  in  two  such  rows,  and  were  the 
twelve  apostles  ;  nor  that  St.  George  ever  sat  in  that  man- 
ner in  a  splendid  chair.  But  he  entirely  believed  in  the 
facts  of  the  lives  of  the  apostles  and  saints,  symbolized  by 
such  figuring. 

But  the  fifteenth  century  sculptor  does,  partly,  mean 
to  assert  that  St.  George  did  in  that  manner  kill  a  dragon  : 
does  not  clearly  know  whether  he  did  or  not ;  does  not 
care  very  much  whether  he  did  or  not ; — thinks  it  will  be 
very  nice  if,  at  any  rate,  people  believe  that  he  did  ; — but 
is  more  bent,  in  the  heart  of  him,  on  making  a  pretty  bas- 
relief  than  on  any  thing  else. 

Half  way  to  infidelity,  the  fine  gentleman  is,  with  all 
his  dainty  chiselling.  We  will  see,  on  those  terms,  what, 
in  another  century,  this  fine  chiselling  comes  to. 

So  now  walk  on,  down  the  Merceria  di  San  Salvador. 
Presently,  if  it  is  morning,  and  the  sky  clear,  you  will  see, 
at  the  end  of  the  narrow  little  street,  the  brick  apse  of  St. 
Baviour's,  warm  against  the  blue  ;  and,  if  you  stand  close 
to  the  right,  a  solemn  piece  of  old  Venetian  wall  and  win- 
dow on  the  opposite  side  of  the  calle,  which  you  might 
pass  under  twenty  times  -without  seeing,  if  set  on  the 
study  of  shops  only.  Then  you  must  turn  to  the  right; 
perforce, — to  'the  left  again ;  and  now  to  the  left,  once 
more ;  and  you  are  in  the  little  piazza  of  St.  Salvador, 
with  a  building  in  front  of  you,  now  occupied  as  a  fur- 


IV.    ST.   THEODORE   THE   CHAIR-SELLER.  43 

nitnre  store,  which  you  will  please  look  at  with  atten- 
tion. 

It  reminds  you  of  many  things  at  home,  I  suppose  ? — 
lias  a  respectable,  old-fashioned,  city-of-London  look  about 
it ; — something  of  Greenwich  Hospital,  of  Temple  Bar,  of 
St.  Paul's,  of  Charles  the  Second  and  the  Constitution, 
and  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Mr.  Bumble?  Truly  English,  in 
many  respects,  this  solidly  rich  front  of  Ionic  pillars,  with 
the  four  angels  on  the  top,  rapturously  directing  your  at- 
tention, by  the  gracefullest  gesticulation,  to  the  higher 
figure  in  the  centre  ! 

You  have  advanced  another  hundred  and  fifty  years,  and 
are  in  mid  seventeenth  century.  Here  is  the  '  Progresso  ' 
of  Venice,  exhibited  to  you,  inconsequence  of  her  wealth, 
and  gay  life,  and  advance  in  anatomical  and  other 
sciences. 

Of  which,  note  first,  the  display  of  her  knowledge  of 
angelic  anatomy.  Sabra,  on  the  rock,  just  showed  her 
foot  beneath  her  robe,  and  that  only  because  she  was 
drawing  back,  frightened  ;  but,  here,  every  angel  has  his 
petticoats  cut  up  to  his  thighs;  he  is  not  sufficiently  sacred 
or  sublime  unless  you  see  his  legs  so  high. 

Secondly,  you  see  how  expressive  are  their  attitudes, — 
••  What  a  wonderful  personage  is  this  we  have  got  in  the 
middle  of  us!" 

That  is  Raphaelesque  art  of  the  finest.  Raphael,  by 
this  time,  had  taught  the  connoisseurs  of  Europe  that 
whenever  you  admire  anybody,  you  open  your  mouth  and 
eyes  wide  ;  when  you  wish  to  show  him  to  somebody  else 
you  point  at  him  vigorously  with  one  arm,  and  wave  the 
somebody  else  on  with  the  other;  when  you  have  nothing 
to  do  of  that  sort,  you  stand  on  one  leg  and  hold  up  the 


44  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

other  in  a  graceful  line ;  these  are  the  methods  of  true 
dramatic  expression.  Your  drapery,  meanwhile,  is  to  be 
arranged  in  "  sublime  masses,"  and  is  not  to  be  suggestive 
of  any  particular  stuff  ! 

If  you  study  the  drapery  of  these  four  angels  thor- 
oughly, you  can  scarcely  fail  of  knowing,  henceforward, 
what  a  bad  drapery  is,  to  the  end  of  time.  Here  is 
drapery  supremely,  exquisitely  bad ;  it  is  impossible,  by 
any  contrivance,  to  get  it  worse.  Merely  clumsy,  ill-cut 
clothing,  you  may  see  any  day  ;  but  there  is  skill  enough 
in  this  to  make  it  exemplarily  execrable.  That  flabby 
flutter,  wrinkled  swelling,  and  puffed  pomp  of  infinite  dis- 
order ; — the  only  action  of  it,  being  blown  up,  and  away  ; 
the  only  calm  of  it,  collapse ; — the  resolution  of  every 
miserable  fold  not  to  fall,  if  it  can  help  it,  into  any  natu- 
ral line, — the  running  of  every  lump  of  it  into  the  next, 
as  dough  sticks  to  dough— remaining,  not  less,  evermore 
incapable  of  any  harmony  or  following  of  each  other's 
lead  or  way ; — and  the  total  rejection  of  all  notion  of 
beauty  or  use  in  the  stuff  itself.  It  is  stuff  without  thick- 
ness, without  fineness,  without  warmth,  without  coolness, 
without  lustre,  without  texture ;  not  silk,— not  linen, — 
not  woollen  ; — something  that  wrings,  and  wrinkles,  and 
gets  between  legs,— that  is  all.  Worse  drapery  than  this, 
you  cannot  see  in  mortal  investiture. 

Nor  worse  want  of  drapery,  neither — for  the  legs  are 
as  ungraceful  as  the  robes  that  discover  them ;  and  the 
breast  of  the  central  figure,  whom  all  the  angels  admire, 
is  packed  under  its  corslet  like  a  hamper  of  tomata 
apples. 

To  this  type  the  Venetians  have  now  brought  their 
symbol  of  divine  life  in  man.  For  this  is  also — St.  Theo- 


,  IV.  ST.   THEODORE  THE   CHAIR-SELLER.  45 

dore  \  And  the  respectable  building  below,  in  the  Bum- 
ble style,  is  the  last  effort  of  his  school  of  Venetian  gentle- 
men to  house  themselves  respectably.  "With  Ionic  capi- 
tals, bare-legged  angels,  and  the  Dragon,  now  square- 
headed  and  blunt-nosed,  they  thus  contrive  their  last  club- 
house, and  prepare,  for  resuscitated  Italy,  in  continued 
'  Progress©,'  a  stately  furniture  store.  Here  you  may  buy 
cruciform  stools,  indeed !  and  patent  oilcloths,  and  other 
supports  of  your  Venetian  worshipful  dignity,  to  heart's 
content.  Here  is  your  God's  Gift  to  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. "  Deposito  mobili  nazionali  edesteri ;  quadri ;  libri 
antichi  e  moderni,  ed  oggetti  diversj." 

Nevertheless,  through  all  this  decline  in  power  and 
idea,  there  is  yet,  let  us  note  finally,  some  wreck  of  Chris- 
tian intention,  some  feeble  coloring  of  Christian  faith.  A 
saint  is  still  held  to  be  an  admirable  person  ;  he  is  prac- 
tically still  the  patron  of  your  fashionable  club-house, 
where  you  meet  to  offer  him  periodical  prayer  and  alms. 
This  architecture  is,  seriously,  the  best  you  can  think  of  ; 
those;  angels  are  handsome,  according  to  your  notions  of 
personality;  their  attitudes  really  are  such  as  you  sup- 
pose to  be  indicative  of  celestial  rapture, — their  features, 
of  celestial  disposition. 

AVe  will  see  what  change  another  fifty  years  will  bring 
about  in  these  faded  feelings  of  Venetian  soul. 

o 

The  little  calle  on  your  right,  as  you  front  St.  Theo- 
dore, will  bring  you  straight  to  the  quay  below  the  Ri- 
alto,  where  your  gondola  shall  be  waiting,  to  take  you  as 
far  as  the  bridge  over  the  Cannareggio  under  the  Palazzo 
Labia.  Stay  your  gondola  before  passing  under  it,  and 
look  carefully  at  the  sculptured  ornaments  of  the  arch, 
and  then  at  the  correspondent  ones  on  the  other  side. 


46  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

In  these  yon  see  the  last  manner  of  sculpture,  executed 
by  Venetian  artists,  according  to  the  mind  of  Venice,  for 
her  own  pride  and  pleasure.  Much  she  has  done  since,  of 
art-work,  to  sell  to  strangers,  executed  as  she  thinks  will 
please  the  stranger  best.  But  of  art  produced  for  her  own 
joy  and  in  her  own  honor,  this  is  a  chosen  example  of 
the  last ! 

Not  representing  saintly  persons,  you  see  ;  nor  angels 
in  attitudes  of  admiration.  Quite  other  personages  than 
angelic,,  and  with  expressions  of  any  thing  rather  than  af- 
fection or  respect  for  aught  of  good,  in  earth  or  heaven. 
Such  were  the  last  imaginations  of  her  polluted  heart,  be- 
fore death.  She  had  it  no  more  in  her  power  to  conceive 
any  other.  "  Behold  thy  last  gods," — the  Fates  compel 
her  thus  to  gaze  and  perish. 

This  last  stage  of  her  intellectual  death  precedes  her 
political  one  by  about  a  century  ;  during  the  last  half  of 
which,  however,  she  did  little  more  than  lay  foundations 
of  walls  which  .she  could  not  complete.  Virtually,  we 
may  close  her  national  history  with  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury ;  we  shall  not  ourselves  follow  it  even  so  far. 

I  have  shown  you,  to-day,  pieces  of  her  art-work  by 
which  yon  may  easily  remember  its  cardinal  divisions. 

You  saw  first  the  work  of  her  Greek  masters,  under 
whom  she  learned  both  her  faith  and  art. 

Secondly,  the  beginning  of  her  own  childish  efforts,  in 
the  St.  George  enthroned. 

Thirdly,  the  culmination  of  her  skill  in  the  St.  George 
combatant. 

Fourthly,  the  languor  of  her  faith  and  art  power,  under 
the  advance  of  her  luxury,  in  the  hypocrisy  of  St.  Theo- 
dore's Scuola,  now  a  furniture  warehouse. 


IV.    ST.    THEODORE   THE    CHAIR-SELLER.  47 

Lastly,  her  dotage  before  shameful  death. 

In  the  next  chapter,  I  will  mark,  by  their  natural  limits 
the  epochs  of  her  political  history,  which  correspond  to 
these  conditions  of  her  knowledge,  hope,  and  imagination. 

lint  as  you  return  home,  and  again  pass  before  the 
porches  of  St.  Mark's,  I  may  as  well  say  at  once  what  I 
can  of  these  six  bus-reliefs  between  them. 

On  the  sides  of  the  great  central  arch  are  St.  George 
and  St.  Demetrius,  so  inscribed  in  Latin.  Between  the 
next  lateral  porches,  the  Virgin  and  Archangel  Gabriel, 
so  inscribed, — the  Archangel  in  Latin,  the  "  Mother  of 
God  "  in  Greek. 

And  between  these  and  the  outer  porches,  unin scribed, 
two  of  the  labors  of  Hercules.  I  am  much  doubtful 
concerning  these,  myself, — do  not  know  their  manner  of 
sculpture,  nor  understand  their  meaning.  They  are  fine 
work;  the  Venetian  antiquaries  say,  very  early  (sixth 
century)  ;  types,  it  may  be,  of  physical  human  power 
prevailing  over  wild  nature  ;  the  war  of  the  world  before 
Christ. 

Then  the  Madonna  and  Angel  of  Annunciation  express 
the  Advent. 

Then  the  two  Christian  Warrior  Saints  express  the 
heart  of  Venice  in  her  armies. 

There  is  no  doubt,  therefore,  of  the  purposeful  choos- 
ing and  placing  of  these  bas-reliefs.  Where  the  outer 
ones  were  brought  from,  I  know  not ;  the  four  inner  ones, 
I  think,  are  all  contemporary,  and  carved  for  their  place 
by  the  Venetian  scholars  of  the  Greek  schools,  in  late 
twelfth  or  early  thirteenth  century. 

My  special  reason  for  assigning  this  origin  to  them  is 
the  manner  of  the  foliage  under  the  feet  of  the  Gabriel, 


ST.  MARKS  REST. 


' 


in  which  is  the  origin  of  all  the  early  foliage  in  the 
Gothic  of  Yenice.  This  bas-relief,  however,  appears  to 
be  by  a  better  master  than  the  others  —  perhaps  later  ;  and 
is  of  extreme  beauty. 

Of  the  ruder  St.  George,  and  successive  sculptures  of 
Evangelists  on  the  north  side,  I  cannot  }^et  speak  with 
decision  ;  nor  would  you,  until  we  have  followed  the  story 
of  Venice  farther,  probably  care  to  hear. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

THE    SHADOW    ON    THE    DIAL. 

THE  history  of  Venice,  then,  divides  itself  into  four 
quite  distinct  periods. 

I.  The  first,  in  which  the  fugitives  from  many  cities  on 
the  mainland,  gathered  themselves  into  one  nation,  de- 
pendent for  existence  on  its  labor  upon  the  sea ;  and 
which  develops  itself,  by  that  labor,  into  a  race  distinct 
in  temper  from  all  the  other  families  of  Christendom. 
This  process  of  growth  and  mental  formation  is  neces- 
sarily a  long  one,  the  result  being  so  great.  It  takes 
roughly,  seven  hundred  years — from  the  fifth  to  the 
eleventh  century,  both  inclusive.  Accurately,  from  the 
Annunciation  day,  March  25th,  421,  to  the  day  of  St. 
Nicholas,  December  6th,  1100. 

At  the  close  of  this  epoch  Venice  had  fully  learned 
Christianity  from  the  Greeks,  chivalry  from  the  Nor- 
mans, and  the  laws  of  human  life  and  toil  from  the  ocean. 
Prudently  and  nobly  proud,  she  stood,  a  helpful  and  wise 
princess,  highest  in  counsel  and  mightiest  in  deed,  among 
the  knightly  powers  of  the  world. 

IT.  The  second  period  is  that  of  her  great  deeds  in  war, 
and  of  the  establishment  of  her  reign  in  justice  and  truth 
(the  best  at  least  that  she  knew  of  either),  over,  nominally, 
the  fourth  part  of  the  former  Roman  Empire.  It  in- 
cludes the  whole  of  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries, 


50  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

and  is  chiefly  characterized  by  the  religious  passion  of  the 
Crusades.  It  lasts,  in  accurate  terms,  from  December 
6th,  y.00,  to  February  28th,  1297;  but  as  the  event  <  f 
that  day  was  not  confirmed  till  three  years  afterwards,  we 
get  the  fortunately  precise  terminal  date  of  1301. 

III.  The  third  period  is  that  of  religious  meditation, 
as  distinct,  though  not  withdrawn  from,  religious  action. 
It  is  marked  by  the  establishment  of  schools  of  kindly 
civil  order,  and  by  its  endeavors  to  express,  in  word  and 
picture,  the  thoughts  which  until  then  had  wrought  in 
silence.  The  entire  body  of  her  noble  art-work  belongs 
to  this  time.  It  includes  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth 
centuries,  and  twenty  years  more  :  -from  1301*  to  1520. 

IT.  The  fourth  period  is  that  of  the  luxurious  use,  and 
display,  of  the  powers  attained  by  the  labor  and  medi- 
tation of  former  times,  but  now  applied  without  either 
labor  or  meditation: — religion,  art,  and  literature,  hav- 
ing become  things  of  custom  and  "  costume."  It  spends, 
in  eighty  years,  the  fruits  of  the  toil  of  a  thousand,  and 
terminates,  strictly,  with  the  death  of  Tintoret,  in  1594; 
we  will  say  1600. 

From  that  day  the  remainder  of  the  record  of  Venice 
is  only  the  diary  of  expiring  delirium,  and  by  those  who 
love  her,  will  be  traced  no  farther.  But  while  you  are 
here  within  'her  walls  I  will  endeavor  to  interpret  clearly 
to  you  the  legends  on  them,  in  which  she  has  herself  re- 
lated the  passions  of  her  Four  Ages. 

And  see  how  easily  they  are  to  be  numbered  and  re- 
membered. Twelve  hundred  years  in  all  ;  divided — if, 
broadly,  we  call  the  third  period  two  centuries,  and  the 

*  Compare  '  Stones  of  Venice  '  (old  edit.),  vol.  ii.,  p.  291. 

. 


V.    THE    S11A1>0\V    ()X   THE    DIAL.  51 

fourth,  one, — in  diminishing  proportion,  7,  2,  2,  1  :  it  is 
like  the  spiral  of  a  shell,  reversed. 

I  have  in  this  first  sketch  of  them  distinguished  these 
four  ages  l»y  the  changes  in  the  chief  element  of  every 
nation's  mind — its  religion,  with  the  consequent  results 
upon  its  art.  But  you  see  I  have  made  no  mention  what- 
ever of  all  that  common  historians  think  it  their  primal 
business  to  discourse  of, — policy,  government,  commercial 
prosperity!  One  of  my  dates  however  is  determined  by 
a  crisis  of  internal  policy  ;  and  I  will  at  least  note,  as  the 
material  instrumentation  of  the  spiritual  song,  the  m  -ta- 
morphoses  of  state-order  which  accompanied,  in  each 
transition,  the  new  nativities  of  the  state's  heart. 

I.  During  the  first  period,  which  completes  the  binding 
of  many  tribes  into  one,  and  the  softening  of  savage  faith- 
into  intelligent  Christianity,  we  see  the  gradual  establish- 
ment of  a  more  and  more  distinctly  virtuous  monarchic 
authority ;    continually  disputed,    and   often  abused,   but 
purified  by  every  reign  into  stricter  duty,  and  obeyed  by 
every  generation  with  more  sacred  regard.     At  the  close 
of  this  epoch,  the  helpful  presence  of  God,  and  the  leading 
powers  of  the  standard-bearer  Saint,  and  sceptre-bearing 
King,  are  vitally  believed  ;  reverently,  and  to  the  death, 
obeyed.     And,  in  the  eleventh  century,  the  Palace  of  the 
Duke  and    lawgiver  of  the  people,  and  his  Chapel,  en- 
shrining the  body  of  St.  Mark,  stand,  bright  with  marble 
and  gold,  side  by  side. 

II.  In  the  second  period,  that  of  active  Christian  war- 
fare, there  separates  itself  from  the  mass  of  the  people, 
chiefly  by  pre-eminence  in  knightly  achievement,  and  per- 
sistence in  patriotic  virtue, — but  also,  by  the  intellectual 
training  received  in  the  conduct  of  great  foreign  enter- 


52  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

prise,  and  maintenance  of  legislation  among  strange 
people, — an  order  of  aristocracy,  raised  both  in  wisdom 
and  valor  greatly  above  the  average  level  of  the  multitude, 
and  gradually  joining  to  the  traditions  of  Patrician  Rome, 
the  domestic  refinements,  and  imaginative  sanctities,  of 
the  northern  and  Frankish  chivalry,  whose  chiefs  we're 
their  battle  comrades.  At  the  close  of  the  epoch,  this 
more  sternly  educated  class  determines  to  assume  author- 
ity in  the  government  of  the  State,  unswayed  by  the 
humor,  and  unhindered  by  the  ignorance,  of  the  lower 
classes  of  the  people  ;  and  the  year  which  I  have  assigned 
for  the  accurate  close  of  the  second  period  is  that  of  the 
great  division  between  nobles  and  plebeians,  called  by  the 
Venetians  the  "Closing  of  the  Council," — the  restriction, 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  powers  of  the  Senate  to  the  lineal 
aristocracy. 

III.  The  third  period  shows  us  the  advance  of  this  now 
separate  body  of  Venetian  gentlemen  in  such  thought  and 
passion  as  the  privilege  of  their  position  admitted,  or  its 
temptations  provoked.  The  gradually  increasing  knowl- 
edge of  literature,  culminating  at  last  in  the  discovery  of 
printing,  and  revival  of  classic  formulae  of  method,  modi- 
fied by  reflection,  or  dimmed  by  disbelief,  the  frank 
Christian  faith  of  earlier  ages  ;  and  social  position  indepen- 
dent of  military  prowess,  developed  at  once  the  ingenuity, 
frivolity,  and  vanity  of  the  scholar,  with  the  avarice  and 
cunning  of  the  merchant. 

Protected  and  encouraged  by  a  senate  thus  composed, 
distinct  companies  of  craftsmen,  wholly  of  the  people, 
gathered  into  vowed  fraternities  of  social  order  ;  and,  re- 
taining the  illiterate  sincerities  of  their  religion,  labored 
in  unambitious  peace,  under  the  orders  of  the  philosophic 


V.   THE   SHADOW   ON  THE   DIAL.  53 

aristocracy  ; — built  for  them  their  great  palaces,  and  over- 
laid their  walls,  within  and  without,  with  gold  and  purple 
of  Tyre,  precious  now  in  Venetian  hands  as  the  colors  of 
heaven  more  than  of  the  sea.  By  the  hand  of  one  of 
them,  the  picture  of  Venice,  with  her  nobles  in  her  streets, 
at  the  end  of  this  epoch,  is  preserved  to  you  as  yet,  and  I 
trust  will  be,  by  the  kind  fates,  preserved  datelessly. 

IV.  In  the  fourth  period,  the  discovery  of  printing 
having  confused  literature  into  vo'ciferation,  and  the  deli- 
cute  skill  of  the  craftsman  having  provoked  splendor  into 
lasdviousness,  the  jubilant  and  coruscant  passions  of  the 
nobles,  stately  yet  in  the  forms  of  religion,  but  scornful  of 
her  discipline,  exhausted,  in  their  own  false  honor,  at  once 
the  treasures  of  Venice  and  her  skill ;  reduced  at  last  her 
people  to  misery,  and  her  policy  to  shame,  and  smoothed 
for  themselves  the  downward  way  to  the  abdication  of 
their  might  for  evermore. 

Xnw  these  t\v<»  histories  of  the  religion  and  policy  of 
Venice  are  only  intense  abstracts  of  the  same  course  of 
thought  and  events  in  every  nation  of  Europe.  Through- 
out the  whole  of  Christendom,  the  two  stories  in  like 
manner  proceed  together.  The  acceptance  of  Christianity 
—the  practice  of  it — the  abandonment  of  it — and  moral 
ruin.  The  development  of  kingly  authority, — the  obedi- 
ence to  it- — the  corruption  of  it — and  social  ruin.  But 
there  is  no  evidence  that  the  first  of  these  courses  of 
national  fate  is  vitally  connected  with  the  second.  That 
infidel  kings  may  be  just,  and  Christian  ones  corrupt,  was 
the  first  lesson  Venice  learned  when  she  began  to  be  a 
scholar. 

And  observe  there  are  three  quite  distinct  conditions  of 
feeling  and  assumptions  of  theory  in  which  we  may  ap- 


54  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

proach  this  matter.  The  first,  that  of  our  numerous  cock- 
ney friends, — that  the  dukes  of  Venice  were  mostly  hyp- 
ocrites, and  if  not,  fools  ;  that  their  pious  zeal  was  merely 
such  acloak  for  their  commercial  appetite  as  modern  church- 
going  is  for  modern  swindling;  or  else  a  pitiable  halluci- 
nation and  puerility: — that  really  the  attention  of  the 
supreme  cockney  mind  would  be  wasted  on  such  bygone 
absurdities,  and  that  out  of  mere  respect  for  the  common 
sense  of  monkey-born-and-bred  humanity,  the  less  we  say 
of  them  the  better. 

The  second  condition  of  feeling  is,  in  its  full  confession, 
a  very  rare  one ; — that  of  true  respect  for  the  Christian 
faith,  and  sympathy  with  the  passions  and  imaginations  it 
excited,  while  yet  in  security  of  modern  enlightenment, 
the  observer  regards  the  faith  itself  only  as  an  exquisite 
dream  of  mortal  childhood,  and  the  acts  of  its  votaries  as 
a  beautifully  deceived  heroism  of  vain  hope. 

This  theory  of  the  splendid  mendacity  of  Heaven,  and 
majestic  somnambulism  of  man,  I  have  only  known  to  be 
held  in  the  sincere  depth  of  its  discomfort,  by  one  of  my 
wisest  and  dearest  friends,  under  the  pressure  of  uncom- 
prehended  sorrow  in  his  own  personal  experience.  But 
to  some  extent  it  confuses  or  undermines  the  thoughts  of 
nearly  all  men  who  have  been  interested  in  the  material 
investigations  of  recent  physical  science,  while  retaining 
yet  imagination  and  understanding  enough  to  enter  into 
the  heart  of  the  religious  and  creative  ages. 

And  it  necessarily  takes  possession  of  the  spirit  of  such 
men  chiefly  at  the  times  of  personal  sorrow,  which  teach 
even  to  the  wisest,  the  hollowness  of  their  best  trust,  and 
the  vanity  of  their  dearest  visions  ;  and  when  the  epitaph 


V.   THE    SHADOAV    OX   THE   DIAL.  55 

of  all  hnnum  virtue,  and  sum  of  human  peace,  seem  to  be 
written  in  the  lowly  argument, — 

"  We  are  such  stuff 

As  dreams  are  made  of;  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep." 

The  third,  the  only  modest,  and  therefore  the  only  ra- 
tional, theory,  is,  that  we  are  all  and  always,  in  these  as 
in  former  ages,  deceived  by  our  own  guilty  passions, 
blinded  by  our  own  obstinate  wills,  and  misled  by  the  in- 
solence and  fantasy  of  our  ungoverned  thoughts  ;  but  that 
there  is  verily  a  Divinity  in  nature  which  has  shaped  the 
rough  hewn  deeds  of  |^r  weak  human  effort,  and  revealed 
itself  in  rays  of  broken,  but  of  eternal  light,  to  the  souls 
which  have  desired  to  see  the  day  of  the  Son  of  Man. 

By  the  more  than  miraculous  fatality  which  has  been 
hitherto  permitted  to  rule  the  course  of  the  kingdoms  of  this 
world,  the  men  who  are  capable  of  accepting  such  faith, 
are  rarely  able  to  read  the  history  of  nation's  by  its  inter- 
pretation. They  nearly  all  belong  to  some  one  of  the 
passionately  egoistic  sects  of  Christianity ;  and  are  mis- 
erably perverted  into  the  missionary  service  of  their  own 
schism  ;  eager  only,  in  the  records  of  the  past,  to  gather 
evidence  to  the  advantage  of  their  native  persuasion,  and 
to  the  disgrace  of  all  opponent  forms  of  similar  heresy ; 
or,  that  is  to  say,  in  every  case,  of  nine-tenths  of  the  re- 
ligion of  this  world. 

"With  no  less  thankfulness  for  the  lesson,  than  shame 
for  what  it  showed,  I  have  myself  been  forced  to  recog- 
nize the  degree  in  which  all  my  early  work  on  Venetian 
history  was  paralyzed  by  this  petulance  of  sectarian  ego- 
tism ;  and  it  is  among  the  chief  advantages  I  possess  for 


56  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

the  task  now  undertaken  in  my  closing  years,  that  there 
are  few  of  the  errors  against  which  I  have  to  warn  my 
readers,  into  which  I  have  not  myself  at  some  time  fallen. 
Of  which  errors,  the  chief,  and  cause  of  all  the  rest,  is  the 
leaning  on  our  own  understanding ;  the  thought  that  we 
can  measure  the  hearts  of  our  brethren,  and  judge  of  the 
ways  of  God.  Of  the  hearts  of  men,  noble,  yet  "  de- 
ceitful above  all  things,  who  can  know  them  ?  " — that  in- 
finitely perverted  scripture  is  yet  infinitely  true.  And 
for  the  ways  of  God !  Oh,  my  good  and  gentle  reader, 
how  much  otherwise  would  not  you  and  I  have  made  this 
world  ? 


CHAPTER  VI. 

RED   AND   WHITE   CLOUDS. 

NOT,  therefore,  to  lean  on  our  own  sense,  but  in  all  the 
strength  it  has,  to  use  it ;  not  to  be  captives  to  our  private 
thoughts,  but  to  dwell  in  them,  without  wandering,  until, 
out  of  the  chambers  of  our  own  hearts  we  begin  to  con- 
ceive what  labyrinth  is  in  those  of  others, — thus  we  have 
to  prepare  ourselves,  good  reader,  for  the  reading  of  any 
history. 

If  but  we  may  at  last  succeed  in  reading  a  little  of  our 
own,  and  discerning  what  scene  of  the  world's  drama  we 
are  set  to  play  in, — drama  whose  tenor,  tragic  or  other, 
seemed  of  old  to  rest  with  so  few  actors;  but  now,  with 
this  pantomimic  mob  upon  the  stage,  can  you  make  out 
any  of  the  stery? — prove,  even  in  your  own  heart,  how 
much  you  believe  that  there  is  any  Playwright  behind  the 
scenes  ? 

Such  a  wild  dream  as  it  is ! — nay,  as  it  always  has  been, 
except  in  momentary  fits  of  consciousness,  and  instants  of 
startled  spirit, — perceptive  of  heaven.  For  many  cen- 
turies the  Knights  of  Christendom  wore  their  religion  gay 
as  their  crest,  familiar  as  their  gauntlet,  shook  it  high  in 
the  summer  air,  hurled  it  fiercely  in  other  people's  fa 
grasped  their  spear  the  firmer  for  it,  sat  their  horses  the 
prouder  ;  but  it  never  entered  into  their  minds  for  an  in- 
stant to  ask  the  meaning  of  it!  '  Forgive  us  our  sins:'  by 


58  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

all  means — yes,  and  the  next  garrison  that  holds  out  a  day- 
longer  than  is  convenient  to  us,  hang  them  every  man  to  his 
battlement.  '  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread,'— yes,  and 
our  neighbor's  also,  if  we  have  any  luck.  l  Our  Lady  and 
the  saints  ! '  Is  there  any  infidel  dog  that  doubts  of  them  ? 
—in  God's  name,  boot  and  spur — and  let  us  have  the  head 
off  him.  It  went  on  so,  frankly  and  bravely,  to  the  twelfth 
century,  at  the  earliest ;  when  men  begin  to  think  in  a 
serious  manner ;  more  or  less  of  gentle  manners  and  do- 
mestic comfort  being  also  then  conceivable  and  attainable. 
Rosamond  is  not  any  more  asked  to  drink  out  of  her 
father's  skull.  Rooms  begin  to  be  matted  and  wainscoted ; 
shops  to  hold  store  of  marvellous  foreign  wares ;  knights 
and  ladies  learn  to  spell,  and  to  read,  with  pleasure ;  music 
is  everywhere ; — Death,  also.  Much  to  enjoy — much  to 
learn,  and  to  endure — with  Death  always  at  the  gates.  "  If 
war  fail  thee  in  thine  own  country,  get  thee  with  haste 
into  another,"  says  the  faithful  old  French  knight  to  the 
boy-chevalier,  in  early  fourteenth  century  days. 

No  country  stays  more  than  two  centuries  in  this  in- 
termediate phase  between  Faith  and  Reason.  In  France 
it  lasted  from  about  1150  to  1350 ;  in  England,  1200  to 
1400 ;  in  Venice,  1300  to  1500.  The  course  of  it  is  al- 
ways in  the  gradual  development  of  Christianity, — till 
her  yoke  gets  at  once  too  aerial,  and  too  straight,  for  the 
mob,  who  break  through  it  at  last  as  if  it  were  so  much 
gossamer  ;  and  at  the  same  fatal  time,  wealth  and  luxury, 
with  the  vanity  of  corrupt  learning,  foul  the  faith  of  the 
upper  classes,  who  now  begin  to  wear  their  Christianity, 
not  tossed  for  a  crest  high  over  their  armor,  but  stuck  as 
a  plaster  over  their  sores,  inside  of  their  clothes.  Then 
comes  printing,  and  universal  gabble  of  fools ;  gunpow- 


VI.    KED   AXI)   WHITE   CLOUDS.  59 

der,  and  the  end  of  all  the  noble  methods  of  war ;  trade, 
and  universal  swindling;  wealth,  and  universal  gambling; 
idleness,  and  universal  harlotry  ;  and  so  at  last — Modern 
Science  and  Political  Economy  ;  and  the  reign  of  St.  Pe- 
troleum instead  of  St.  Peter.  Out  of  which  God  only 
knows  what  is  to  come  next ;  but  He  <70e,s' know,  whatever 
the  Jew  swindlers  and  apothecaries'  'prentices  think 
about  it. 

Meantime,  with  what  remainder  of  belief  in  Christ  may 
be  left  in  us ;  and  helping  that  remnant  with  all  the  power 
we  have  of  imagining  what  Christianity  was,  to  people 
who,  without  understanding  its  claims  or  its  meaning,  did 
not  doubt  for  an  instant  its  statements  of  fact,  and  used 
the  whole  of  their  childish  imagination  to  realize  the  acts 

*-j 

of  their  Saviour's  life,  and  the  presence  of  His  angels,  let 
us  draw  near  to  the  first  sandy  thresholds  .of  the  Vene- 
tiau's  home. 

Before  you  read  any  of  the  so-called  historical  events  of 
the  first  period,  I  want  you  to  have  some  notion  of  their 
scene.  Your  will  hear  of  Tribunes — Consuls — Doges ; 
but  what  sort  of  tribes  were  they  tribunes  of  ?  what  sort 
of  nation  were  they  dukes  of?  You  will  hear  of  brave 
naval  battle — victory  over  sons  of  Emperors  :  what  man- 
ner of  people  were  they,  then,  whose  swords  lighten  thus 
brightly  in  the  dawn  of  chivalry  ? 

For  the  whole  of  her  first  seven  •hundred  years  of  work 
and  war,  Venice  was  in  great  part  a  wooden  town  ;  the 
houses  of  the  noble  mainland  families  being  for  long 
years  chiefly  at  Heraclea,  and  on  other  islands ;  nor  they 
magnificent,  but  farm-villas  mostly,  of  which,  and  their 
tanning,  more  presently.  Far  too  much  stress  has  been 
generally  laid  on  the  fishing  and  salt-works  of  early  Venice, 


60  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

as  if  they  were  her  only  businesses ;  nevertheless  at  least 
you  may  be  sure  of  this  much,  that  for  seven  hundred  years 
Venice  had  more  likeness  in  her  to  old  Yarmouth  than  to 
new  Pall  Mall ;  and  that  you  might  come  to  shrewder 
guess  of  what  she  and  her  people  were  like,  by  living  for 
a  year  or  two  lovingly  among  the-herring-catchers  of  Yar- 
mouth Roads,  or  the  boatmen  of  Deal  or  Boscastle,  than 
by  reading  any  lengths  of  eloquent  history.  But  you  are 
to  know  also,  and  remember  always,  that  this  amphibious 
city — this  Phocaea,  or  sea-dog  of  towns — looking  with 
soft  human  eyes  at  you  from  the  sand,  Proteus  himself 
latent  in  the  salt-smelling  skin  of  her — had  fields,  and 
plots  of  garden  here  and  there  ;  and,  far  and  near,  sweet 
woods  of  Calypso,  graceful  with  quivering  sprays,  for 
woof  of  nests — gaunt  with  forked  limbs  for  ribs  of  ships  ; 
had  good  milk  and  butter  from  familiarly  couchant  cows  ; 
thickets  wherein  familiar  birds  could  sing ;  and  finally 
was  observant  of  clouds  and  sky,  as  pleasant  and  useful 
phenomena.  And  she  had  at  due  distances  among  her 
simple  dwellings,  stately  churches  of  marble. 

These  things  you  may  know,  .if  you  will,  from  the  fol- 
lowing "quite  ridiculous"  tradition,  which,  ridiculous  as  it 
may  be,  I  will  beg  you  for  once  to  read,  since  the  D«>--c 
Andrea  Dandolo  wrote  it  for  you,  with  the  attention  due 
to  the  address  of  a  Venetian  gentleman,  and  a  King.-" 

"As  head  and  bishop  of  the  islands,  the  Bishop  Mag- 

*  A  more  graceful  form  of  this  legend  lias  been  translated  with  feel- 
ing and  care  by  the  Countess  Isobel  Cholmley,  in  Berrnani,  from  an 
MS.  in  her  possession,  copied,  I  believe,  from  one  of  the  tenth  centurv. 
But  I  take  the  form  in  which  it  was  written  by  Andrea  Dandolo,  t!i:  ' 
the  reader  may  have  more  direct  associations  with  the  beautiful  inm 
of  the  Doge  on  his  tomb  in  the  Baptistery. 


VI.    RED   AND   WHITE   CLOUDS.  Cl 

TIMS  of  Altinum  went  from  place  to  place  to  give  them 
comfort,  saying  that  they  ought  to  thank  God  tor  having 
,|>ed  from  these  barbarian  cruelties.  And  there  ap- 
peared to  him  St.  Peter,  ordering  him  that  in  the  head  of 
Venice,  or  truly  of  the  city  of  Rivoalto,  where  he  should 
iiud  oxen  and  sheep  feeding,  he  was  to  build  a  church 
under  his  (St.  Peter's)  name.  And  thus  he  did  ;  building 
St.  Peter's  Church  in  the  island  of  Olivolo,  where  at  pres- 
ent is  the  seat  and  cathedral  church  of  Venice. 

"•  A  fter wards  appeared  to  him  the  angel  Raphael,  com- 
mitting it  to  him,  that  at  another  place,  where  he  should 
iind  a  number  of  birds  together,  he  should  build  him  a 
church  :  and  so  he  did,  which  is  the  church  of  the  Angel 
'Raphael  in  Dorsoduro. 

"  Afterwards  appeared  to  him  Messer  Jesus  Christ  our 
Lord,  and  committed  to  him  that  in  the  midst  of  the  city 
he  should  build  a  church,  in  the  place,  above  which  he 
should  see  a  red  cloud  rest :  and  so  he  did  ;  and  it  is  San 
Salvador. 

"  Afterwards  appeared  to  him  the  most  holy  Mary  the 
Virgin,  very  beautiful;  and  commanded  him  that  where 
lie  should  see  a  white  cloud  rest,  he  should  build  a  church  : 
which  is  the  church  of  St.  Mary  the  Beautiful. 

a  Yet  still  appeared  to  him  St.  John  the  Baptist,  com- 
manding that  he  should  build  two  churches,  one  near  the 
other — the  one  to  be  in  his  name,  and  the  other  in  the 
name  of  his  father.  Which  he  did,  and  they  are  San 
Giovanni  in  Bragola,  and  San  Zaccaria. 

"  Then  appeared  to  him  the  apostles  of  Christ,  wishing, 
they  also,  to  have  a  church  in  this  new  city ;  and  they 
committed  it  to  him  that  where  he  should  see  twelve 
cranes  in  a  company,  there  he  should  build  it.  Lastly 


62  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

appeared  to  him  the  blessed  Virgin  Giustina,  and  ordered 
him  that  where  he  should  find  vines  bearing  fresh  fruits 
there  he  should  build  her  a  church." 

Now  this  legend  is  quite  one  of  the  most  precious 
things  in  the  story  of  Venice :  preserved  for  us  in  this 
form  at  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century,  by  one  of  her 
most  highly  educated  gentlemen,  it  shows  the  very  heart 
of  her  religious  and  domestic  power,  and  assures  for  us, 
with  other  evidence,  these  following  facts. 

First;  that  a  certain  measure  of  pastoral  home-life  was 
mingled  with  Venice's  training  of  her  sailors  ; — evidence 
whereof  remains  to  this  day,  in  the  unfailing  'Campo' 
round  every  church  ;  the  church  '  meadow  ' — not  church- 
'  vard.'  It  happened  to  me,  once -in  my  life,  to  go  t  > 
church  in  a  state  of  very  great  happiness  and  peace  of 
mind  ;  and  this  in  a  very  small  and  secluded  country 
church.  And  Fors  would  have  it  that  I  should  get  a  seat 
in  the  chancel  ;  and  the  day  was  sunny,  and  the  little  side 
chancel-door  was  open  opposite  into,  what  I  hope  was  a 
field.  I  saw  no  graves  in  it ;  but  in  the  sunshine,  sheep 
feeding.  And  I  never  was  at  so  divine  a  church  service 
before,  nor  have  been  since.  If  you  will  read  the  opening 
of  Wordsworth's  '"White  Doe  of  Rylstone,'  and  can  enjoy 
it,  you  may  learn  from  it  what  the  look  of  an  old  Vene- 
tian church  would  be,  with  its  surrounding  field.  St. 
Mark's  Place  was  only  the  meadow  of  St.  Theodore's 
church,  in  those  days. 

Next — you  observe  the  care  and  watching  of  animals. 
That  is  still  a  love  in  the  heart  of  Venice.  One  of  the 
chief  little  worries  to  me  in  my  work  here,  is  that  I  walki 
faster  than  the  pigeons  are  used  to  have  people  walk ;  and 


VI.    RED    AND    WHITE    CLOUDS.  63 

am  continually  like  to  tread  on  them  ;  and  see  story  in 
Fors,  March  of  this  year,  of  the  gondolier  and  his  dog. 
Nay,  though,  the  other  day,  I  was  greatly  tormented  at 
the  public  gardens,  in  the  early  morning,  when  I  had 
counted  on  a  quiet  walk,  by  a  cluster  of  boys  who 
were  chasing  the  first  twittering  birds  of  the  spring 
from  bush  to  bush,  and  throwing  sand  at  them,  with  wild 
shouts  and  whistles,  they  were  not  doing  it,  as  I  at  first 
thought,  in  mere  mischief,  but  with  hope  of  getting  a 
penny  or  t\vo  to  gamble  with,  if  they  could  clog  the  poor 
little  creatures'  \vings  enough  to  bring  one  down — 
"  '  Canta  bene,  signor,  quell'  uccellino."  Such  the  nine- 
teenth century's  reward  of  Song.  Meantime,  among  the 
silvery  gleams  of  islet  tower  on  the  lagoon  horizon,  be- 
yond Mazorbo — a  white  ray  flashed  from  the  place  where 
St.  Francis  preached  to  the  .Birds. 

Then  thirdly — note  that  curious  observance  of  the  color 
of  clouds.  That  is  gone,  indeed ;  and  no  Venetian,  or 
Italian,  or  Frenchman,  or  Englishman,  is  likely  to  know 
or  care,  more,  whether  any  God-given  cloud  is  white  or* 
red  ;  the  primal  effort  of  his  entire  human  existence  being 
no\v  to  vomit  out  the  biggest  black  one  he  can  pollute  the 
heavens  with.  But,  in  their  rough  way,  there  was  yet  a 
perception  in  the  old  fishermen's  eyes  of  the  difference 
between  white  'nebbia'  on  the  morning  sea,  and  red 
clouds  in  the  evening  twilight.  And  the  Stella  Maris 
comes  in  the  sea  Cloud; — Leucothea :  but  the  SUM  of 
Man  on  the  jasper  throne. 

Thus  much  of  the  aspect,  and  the  thoughts  of  earliest 
Venice,  we  may  gather  from  one  tradition,  carefully  read. 
"What  historical  evidence  exists  to  confirm  the  gathering, 
you  shall  see  in  a  little  while  ;  meantime — such  being  the 


64:  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

scene  of  the  opening  drama — we  must  next  consider  some- 
what of  the  character  of  the  actors.  For  though  what 
manner  of  houses  they  had,  has  been  too  little  known, 
what  manner  of  men  they  were,  has  not  at  all  been 
known,  or  even  the  reverse  of  known, — belied. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

DIVIDE   BIGHT. 

ARE  you  impatient  with  me?  and  do  you  wish  me, 
ceasing  preamble,  to  begin — '  In  the  year  th  is,  happened 
that,'  and  set  you  down  a  page  of  dates  and  Doges  to  be 
learned  off  by  rote?  You  must  be  denied  such  delight  a 
little  while  longer.  If  I  begin  dividing  this  first  period, 
at  present  (and  it  has  very  distinctly  articulated  joints  of 
its  own),  we  should  get  confused  between  the  subdivided 
and  the  great  epochs.  I  must  keep  your  thoughts  to  the 
Three  Times,  till  we  know  them  clearly ;  and  in  this 
chapter  I  am  only  going  to  tell  you  the  story  of  a  single 
Doge  of  the  First  Time,  and  gather  what  we  can  out  of  it. 

Only,  since  we  have  been  hitherto  dwelling  on  the  soft 
and  religiously  sentimental  parts  of  early  Venetian  char- 
acter, it  is  needful  that  I  should  ask  you  to  notice  one 
condition  in  their  government  of  a  quite  contrary  nature, 
which  historians  usually  pass  by  as  if  it  were  of  no  conse- 
quence ;  namely,  that  during  this  first  period,  five  Doges, 
sifter  being  deposed,  had  their  eyes  put  out. 

P ul],  <l  out,  say  some  writers,  and  I  think  with  evidence 
reaching  down  as  far  as  the  endurance  on  our  English 
stage  of  the  blinding  of  Gloster  in  King  Lear. 

But  at  all  events  the  Dukes  of  Venice,  whom  her  people 
thought  to  have  failed  in  their  duty,  were  in  that  manner 
incapacitated  from  reigning  more. 

An  Eastern  custom,  as  we  know  :  grave  in  judgment ; 


66  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

in  the  perfectness  of  it,  joined  with  infliction  of  grievous 
Sight,  before  the  infliction  of  grievous  Blindness ;  that  so 
the  last  memory  of  this  world's  light  might  remain  a 
grief.  "  And  they  slew  the  sons  of  Zedekiah  before  his 
eyes ;  and  put  out  the  eyes  of  Zedekiah." 

Custom  I  know  not  how  ancient.  The  sons  of  Eliab, 
when  Judah  was  young  in  her  Exodus,  like  Venice, 
appealed  to  it  in  their  fury :  "  Is  it  a  small  thing  that 
thou  hast  brought  us  up  out  of  a  land  that  floweth  with 
milk  and  honey,  except  thou  make  thyself  altogether  a 
Prince  over  us  ;  wilt  thou  put  out  the  eyes  of  these  men  ?  " 

The  more  wild  Western  races  of  Christianity,  early  Irish 
and  the  like, — Norman  even,  in  the  pirate  times, — inflict 
the  penalty  with  reckless  scorn  ;  *  but  Venice  deliberately, 
as  was  her  constant  way ;  such  her  practical  law  against 
leaders  whom  she  had  found  spiritually  blind :  "  These,  at 
least,  shall  guide  no  more." 

Very  savage !  monstrous !  if  you  will ;  whether  it  be 
not  a -worse  savageness  deliberately  to  follow  leaders  with- 
out sight,  may  be  debatable. 

The  Doge  whose  history  I  am  going  to  tell  you  was  the 
last  of  deposed  Kings  in  the  first  epoch.  Not  blinded, 

*  Or  sometimes  pitifully.  "  Olaf  was  by  no  means  an  unmerciful 
man, — much  the  reverse  where  he  saw  good  cause.  There  was  a 
wicked  old  King  Raerik,  for  example,  one  of  those  five  kinglets  whom, 
with  their  bits  of  armaments,  Olaf,  by  stratagem,  had  surrounded  one 
night,  and  at  once  bagged  and  subjected  when  morning  rose,  all  of 
them  consenting  ; — all  of  them  except  this  Raerik,  whom  Olaf,  as  the 
readiest  sure  course,  took  home  with  him  ;  blinded,  and  kept  in  his 
own  house,  finding  there  was  no  alternative  but  that  or  death  to  the 
obstinate  old  dog,  who  was  a  kind  of  distant  cousin  withal,  and  could 
not  conscientiously  be  killed  " — (Carlyle, — '  Early  Kings  of  Norway,' 
p.  121) — conscience,  and  kin-ship,  or  "  kindliness,"  declining  some- 
what in  the  Norman  heart  afterwards. 


VII.    DIVINE    RIGHT.  67 

f 

he,  as  far  as  I  read :  but  permitted,  I  trust  peaceably,  to 
become  a  monk  ;  Venice  owing  to  him  much  that  lias  been 
the  delight  of  her  own  and  other  people's  eyes,  ever  since. 
Respecting  the  occasion  of  his  dethronement,  a  story 
remains,  however,  very  notably  in  connection  with  this 
manner  of  punishment. 

Venice,  throughout  this  first  period  in  close  alliance 
with  the  Greeks,  sent  her  Doge,  in  the  year  1082,  with  a 
"  valid  fleet,  terrible  in  its  most  ordered  disposition,"  to 
defend  the  Emperor  Alexis  against  the  Normans,  led  by 
the  greatest  of  all  "Western  captains,  Guiscard. 

The  Doge  defeated  him  in  naval  battle  once ;  and,  on 
the  third  day  after,  once  again,  and  so  conclusively,  that, 
thinking  the  debate  ended,  lie  sent  his  lightest  ships 
home,  and  anchored  on  the  Albanian  coast  with  the  rest, 
as  having  done  his  work. 

But  Guiscard,  otherwise  minded  on  that  matter,  with 
the  remains  of  his  fleet, — and  his  Norman  temper  at 
hottest, — attacked  him  for  the  third  time.  The  Greek 
allied  ships  fled.  The  Venetian  ones,  partly  disabled,  had 
no  advantage  in  their  seamanship  :*  question  only  re- 
mained, after  the  battle,  how  the  Venetians  should  bear 
themselves  as  prisoners.  Guiscard  put  out  the  eyes  of 
some;  then,  with  such  penalty  impending  over  the  i 
demanded  that  they  should  make  peace  with  the  Nor- 
mans, and  fight  for  the  Greek  Emperor  no  more. 

But  the  Venetians  answered,  "  Know  thou,  Duke 
Robert,  that  although  also  we  should  see  our  wives  c /«! 
:ftil<l/\n  slain,  we  will  not  deny  our  covenants  with  the 


*  Their  crews  had  eaten  all  their  stores,  and  their  ships  were  flying 
ight,  and  would  not  steer  well. 


68  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

Autocrat  Alexis ;  neither  will  we  cease  to  help  him,  and 
to  fight  for  him  with  our  whole  hearts." 

The  Norman  chief  sent  them  home  unransomed. 

There  is  a  highwater  mark  for  you  of  the  waves  of 
Venetian  and  Western  chivalry  in  the  eleventh  century. 
A  very  notable  scene  ;  the  northern  leader,  without  rival 
the  greatest  soldier  of  the  sea  whom  our  rocks  and  ice-bergs 
bred  :  of  the  Venetian  one,  and  his  people,  we  will  now  try 
to  learn  the  character  more  perfectly, — for  all  this  took 
place  towards  the  close  of  the  Doge  Selvo's  life.  You 
shall  next  hear  what  I  can  glean  of  the  former  course  of  it. 

In  the  year  1053,  the  Abbey  of  St.  Nicholas,  the  pro- 
tector of  mariners,  had  been  built  at  the  entrance  of  the 
port  of  Venice  (where,  north  of  the  bathing  establishment, 
you  now  see  the  little  church  of  St.  Nicholas  of  the  Lido)  ; 
the  Doge  Domenico  Contarini,  the  Patriarch  of  Grado, 
and  the  Bishop  of  Venice,  chiefly  finding  the  funds  for 
such  edifice. 

When  the  Doge  Contarini  died,  the  entire  multitude  of 
the  people  of  Venice  came  in  armed  boats  to  the  Lido, 
and  the  Bishop  of  Venice,  and  the  monks  of  the  new 
abbey  of  St.  Nicholas,  joined  with  them  in  prayer, — the 
monks  in  their  church  and  the  people  on  the  shore  and  in 
their  boats, — that  God  would  avert  all  dangers  from  their 
country,  and  grant  to  them  such  a  king  as  should  be 
worthy  to  reign  over  it.  And  as  they  prayed,  with  one 
accord,  suddenly  there  rose  up  among  the  multitude  the 
cry,  "  Domenico  Selvo,  we  will,  and  we  approve,"  whom 
a  crowd  of  the  nobles  brought  instantly  forward  there- 
upon, and  raised  him  on  their  own  shoulders  and  carried 
him  to  his  boat ;  into  which  when  he  had  entered,  he  put 
off  his  shoes  from  his  feet,  that  he  might  in  all  humility 


VII.    DIVINE    RIGHT.  69 

approach  the  church  of  St.  Mark.  And  while  the  boats 
hrgan  to  row  from  the  island  towards  Venice,  the  monk 
who  saw  this,  and  tells  us  of  it,  himself  began  to  sing  the 
Te  Deum.  All  around,  the  voices  of  the  people  took  up 
the  hymn,  following  it  with  the  Kyrie  Eleison,  with  such 
litany  keeping  time  to  their  oars  in  the  bright  noonday, 
and  rejoicing  on  their  native  sea;  all  the  towers  of  the 
c-ity  answering  with  triumph  peals  as  they  drew  nearer. 
They  brought  their  Doge  to  the  Field  of  St.  Mark,  and 
carried  him  again  on  their  shoulders  to  the  porch  of  the 
church  ;  there,  entering  barefoot,  with  songs  of  praise  to 
(MM!  round  him — "such  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  vaults 
must  fall," — he  prostrated  himself  on  the  earth,  and  gave 
; hanks  to  God  and  St.  Mark,  and  uttered  such  vow  as  was 
in  his  heart  to  offer  before  them.  Rising,  he  received  at 
the  altar  the  Venetian  sceptre,  and  thence  entering  the 
Ducal  Palace,  received  there  the  oath  of  fealty  from  the 
people.* 

*  This  account  of  the  election  of  the  Doge  Selvo  is  given  by  Sanso- 
vino  ('  Yi-ni'tiii  ck-scritta,'  Lib.  xi.  40  ;  Venice,  1663,  p.  477), — saying  at 
tlic  close  of  it  simply,  "  Thus  writes  Doinenico  Rino,  who  was  hischap- 
liiiii.  and  who  was  present  at  what  I  have  related."  Sansoviuo  seems 
therefore  to  have  seen  Rino's  manuscript  :  but  Romauin,  without 
referring  to  Sansovino,  gives  the  relation  as  if  he  had  seen  the  MS. 
himself,  but  misprints  the  chronicler's  name  as  Doinenico  Tino,  causing 
no  little  trouble  to  my  kind  friend  Mr.  Lorenzi  and  me,  in  hunting  at 
S:  Mark's  and  the  Correr  Museum  for  the  unheard-of  chronicle,  till 
Mr.  Lorenzi  traced  tin-  passage.  And  since  Sansovino's  time  nothing 
has  been  ,s.-eu  or  further  said  of  the  Riuo  Chronicle. — See  Foscarini, 
"delhi  letteratura  Veneriana,"  Lib.  ii. 

Ruuianin  has  also  amplified   and  inferred  somewhat  beyond  Sanso- 

vino's  words.     The  dilapidation  of  the  palace  furniture,  especially,  is 

not  attributed  by  Sansovino  to  festive  pillage,  but  to  neglect  after  Con- 

tarim'Ss.  death,     rnquestionably,  however,  the  custom  alluded  to  in  the 

xisti-d  from  very  early  times 


70  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

Benighted  wretches,  all  of  them,  you  think,  prince 
and  people  alike,  don't  yon?  They  were  pleasanter 
creatures  to  see,  at  any  rate,  than  any  you  will  see  in  St. 
Mark's  field  nowadays.  If  the  pretty  ladies,  indeed, 
would  walk  in  the  porch  like  the  Doge,  barefoot,  instead 
of  in  boots  cloven  in  two  like  the  devil's  hoofs,  something 
might  be  said  for  them;  but  though  they  will  recklessly 
drag  their  dresses  through  it,  I  suppose  they  would 
scarcely  care  to  walk,  like  Greek  maids,  in  that  mixed 
mess  of  dust  and  spittle  with  which  modern  progressive 
Venice  anoints  her  marble  pavement.  Pleasanter  to  look 
at,  I  can  assure  you,  this  multitude  delighting  in  their 
God  and  their  Duke,  than  these,  who  have  no  Paradise  to 
trust  to  with  better  gifts  for  them  than  a  gazette,  cigar, 
and  pack  of  cards ;  and  no  better  governor  than  their  own 
wills.  You  will  see  no  especially  happy  or  wise  faces 
produced  in  St.  Mark's  Place  under  these  conditions. 

Nevertheless,  tbe  next  means  that  the  Doge  Selvo  took 
for  the  pleasure  of  his  people  on  his  coronation  day  sa- 
voured somewhat  of  modern  republican  principles.  He 
gave  them  "  the  pillage  of  his  palace" — no  less  !  What- 
ever they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  these  faithful  ones, 
they  might  carry  away  with  them,  with  the  Doge's  bless- 
ing. At  evening  lie  laid  down  the  uneasy  crowned  head 
of  him  to  rest  in  mere  dismantled  walls  ;  hands  dexterous 
in  the  practices  of  profitable  warfare  having  bestirred 
themselves  all  the  day.  Next  morning  the  first  Ducal 
public  orders  were  necessarily  to  the  upholsterers  and 
furnishers  for  readornment  of  the  palace-rooms.  Not  by 
any  special  grace  this,  or  benevolent  novelty  of  idea  in 
the  good  Doge,  but  a  received  custom,  hitherto ;  sacred 
enough,  if  one  understands  it, — a  kind  of  mythical  putting 


VII.    DIVINE    RIGHT.  71 

off  all  the  burdens  of  one's  former  wealth,  and  entering 
barefoot,  bare-body,  burr-soul,  into  this  one  duty  of  Guide 
and  Lord,  lightened  thus  of  all  regard  for  his  own  affairs 
or  properties.  ';  Take  all  I  have,  from  heneeforth;  the 
corporal  vestments  of  me,  and  all  that  is  in  their  pockets, 
1  give  you  to-day  ;  the  stripped  life  of  me  is  yours  for- 
ever." Sueh,  virtually,  the  King's  vow. 

Frankest  largesse  thus  cast  to  his  el e  tors  (modern 
bribery  is  quite  as  costly  and  not  half  so  merry),  the  Doge 
set  himself  to  refit,  not  his  own  palace  merely,  but  much 
more,  God's  house  :  for  this  prince  is  one  who  has  at  once 
David's  piety,  and  soldiership,  and  Solomon's  love  of  line 
tilings;  a  perfect  man,  as  I  read  him,  capable  at  once  and 
gentle,  religious  and  joyful,  in  the  extreme  :  as  a  warrior 
the  match  of  Robert  Gui>card,  who,  you  will  find,  was  the 
soldier  par  excellence  of  the  middle  .ages,  but  not  his 
match  in  the  wild-cat  cunning — both  of  them  alike  in 

O 

knightly  honor,  word  being  given.  As  a  soldier,  I  say, 
the  match  of  Gniscard,  but  not  holding  war  for  the  pas- 
time of  life,  stillJess  for  the  duty  of  Venice  or  her  king. 
Peaceful  affairs,  the  justice  and  the  joy  of  human  deeds 
— in  these  he  sought  his  power,  by  principle  and  passion 
equally ;  religious,  as  we  have  seen ;  royal,  as  we  shall 
presently  see;  commercial,  as  we  shall  finally  see;  a  per- 
fect man,  recognized  as  such  with  concurrent  applause  of 
people  and  submission  of  noble  :  u  Domenico  Selvo,  we 
will,  and  we  approve." 

No  flaw  in  him,  then  ?    Nay  ;  "  how  bad  the  best  of  us  !" 
say  Punch*  and  the  modern  evangelical.     Flaw  he  had, 


*  Epitaph   on  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  (Wilberforce) ;  see  Fora 
XI  ,11.,  p.  125. 


72  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

such  as  wisest  men  are  not  imliable  to,  with  the  strongest 
— Solomon,  Samson,  Hercules,  Merlin  the  Magician. 

Liking  pretty  things,  how  could  he  help  liking  pretty 
ladies  ?  He  married  a  Greek  maid,  who  came  with  new 
and  strange  light  on  Venetian  eyes,  and  left  wild  fame  of 
herself:  how,  every  morning,  she  sent  her  handmaidens  to 
gather  the  dew  for  her  to  wash  writh,  waters  of  earth  being 
not  pure  enough.  So,  through  lapse  of  fifteen  hundred 
year.-,  descended  into  her  Greek  heart  that  worship  in  the 
Temple  of  the  Dew. 

Of  this  queen's  extreme  luxury,  and  the  miraculousness 
of  it  in  the  eyes  of  simple  Venice,  many  traditions  are 
current  among  later  historians;  which,  nevertheless,  'I 
find  resolve  themselves,  on  closer  inquiry,  into  an  appalled 
record  of  the  fact  that  she  would  actually  not  eat  her  meat 
with  her  fingers,  but  applied  it  to  her  mouth  with  "  certain 
two-pronged  instruments"*  (of  gold,  indeed,  but  the 
luxurious  sin,  in  Venetian  eyes,  was  evidently  not  in  the 
metal,  but  the  fork)  ;  and  that  she  indulged  herself  greatly 
in  the  use  of  perfumes :  especially  about  her  bed,  for 
which  whether  to  praise  her,  as  one  would  an  English 
housewife  for  sheets  laid  up  in  lavender,  or  to  cry  haro 
upon  her,  as  the  "  stranger  who  flattereth,"  f  I  know 
not,  until  I  know  better  the  reason  of  the  creation  of  per- 
fume itself,  arid  of  its  use  in  Eastern  religion  and  delight 
— "All  thy  garments  smell  of  myrrh,  aloes,  and  cassia,  out 
of  the  ivory  palaces  whereby  thou  hast  made  me  glad  " 
fading  and  corrupting  at  last  into  the  incense  of  the  mass, 
and  the  extrait  de  Mille-fleurs  of  Bond  Street.  What  I  do 

*  Oibos  digitis   non  tangebat,   sed  quibusdam  fuscinulis  aureis  et 
bidentibus  suo  ori  applicabat."    (Petrus  Damianus,  quoted  by  Dandolo.) 
(•  Proverbs  vii. ,  5  and  17. 


VII.    DIVINE   RIGHT.  73 

know  is,  that  there  was  no  more  sacred  sight  to  me,  in 
ancient  Florence,  than  the  Spezieria  of  the  Monks  of  Santa 
Maria  Novella,  with  its  precious  vials  of  sweet  odors,  each 
illuminated  with  the  little  picture  of  the  flower  from  which 
it  had  truly  been  distilled — and  yet,  that,  in  its  loaded  air 
one  remembered  that  the  flowers  had  grown  in  the  fields 
of  the  Decameron. 

But  this  also  I  know,  and  more  surely,  that  the  beauti- 
ful work  done  in  St.  Mark's  during  the  Greek  girl's  reign 
in  Venice  first  interpreted  to  her  people's  hearts,  and 
made  legible  to  their  eyes,  the  law  of  Christianity  in  its 
eternal  harmony  with  the  laws  of  the  Jew  and  of  the 
Greek:  and  gave  them  the  glories  of  Venetian  art  in  true 
inheritance  from  the  angels  of  that  Athenian  Rock,  above 
which  Ion  spread  his  starry  tapestry,*  and  under  whose 
shadow  his  mother  had  gathered  the  crocus  in  the  dew. 


*  I  have  myself  learned  more  of  the  real  meaning  of  Greek  myths 
from  Euripides  than  from  any  other  Greek  writer,  except  Pindar. 
But  I  do  not  at  present  know  of  any  English  rhythm  interpreting  him 
ritrhtly — these  poor  sapless  measures  must  serve  my  turn — ( Wodhull's  : 
1778.) 

"  The  sacred  tapestry 

Then  taking  from  the  treasures  of  the  God, 

He  cover'd  o'er  the  whole,  a  wondrous  sight 

To  all  beholders  :  first  he  o'er  the  roof 

Threw  robes,  which  Hercules,  the  son  of  Jove, 

To  Phoebus  at  his  temple  brought,  the  spoils 

Of  vanquished  Amazons  ; 

On  which  these  pictures  by  the  loom  were  wrought ; 

Heaven  in  its  vast  circumference  all  the  stars 

Assembling  ;  there  his  courses  too  the  Sun 

Impetuous  drove,  till  ceas'd  his  waning  flame, 

And  with  him  drew  in  his  resplendent  train, 


74  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

Vesper's  clear  light  ;  then  clad  in  sable  garb 

Night  haslen'd  ;  hastening  stars  accompanied 

Their  Goddess  ;  through  mid-air  the  Pleiades, 

And  with  his  falchion  arm'd,  Orion  mov'd. 

But  the  sides  he  covered 

With  yet  more  tapestry,  the  Barbaric  fleet 

To  that  of  Greece  opposed,  was  there  display'd; 

Follow'd  a  monstrous  brood,  half  horse,  half  man, 

The  Thracian  monarch's  furious  steeds  subdu'd, 

And  lion  of  Nemaea." 

"       ...  Underneath  those  craggy  rocks, 

North  of  Minerva's  citadel  (the  kings 

Of  Athens  call  them  Macra),     .     .     . 

Thou  cam'st,  resplendent  with  thy  golden  hair, 

As  I  the  crocus  gathered,  in  my  robe 

Each  vivid  flower  assembling,  to  compose 

Garlands  of  fragrance." 

The  composition  of  fragrant  garlands  out  of  crocuses  being  however 
Mr.  Michael  Wodhull's  improvement  on  Euripides.  Creusa's  words  are 
literally,  "  Thou  earnest,  thy  hair  flashing  with  gold,  as  I  let  fall  the 
crocus  petals,  gleaming  gold  back  again,  into  my  robe  at  my  bosom." 
Into  the  folds  of  it,  across  her  breast ;  as  an  English  girl  would  have 
let  them  fall  into  her  lap. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE    REQUIEM. 

.1.  As  I  re-read  the  description  I  gave,  thirty  years 
since,  of  St.  Mark's  Church  ; — much  more  as  I  remember, 
forty  years  since,  and  before,  the  first  happy  hour  spent 
in  trying  to  paint  a  piece  of  it,  with  my  six-o'clock  break- 
fast on  the  little  cafe  table  beside  me  on  the  pavement  in 
the  morning  shadow,  I  am  struck,  almost  into  silence,  by 
wonder  at  my  own  pert  little  Protestant  mind,  which 
never  thought  for  a  moment  of  asking  what  the  Church 
had  been  built  for  ! 

Tacitly  and  complacently  assuming  that  I  had  had  the 
entire  truth  of  God  preached  to  me  in  Beresford  Chapel 
in  the  Walworth  Road, — recognizing  no  possible  Christian 
use  or  propriety  in  any  other  sort  of  chapel  elsewhere  ; 
and  perceiving,  in  this  bright  phenomenon  before  me, 
nothing  of  more  noble  function  than  might  be  in  some 
new  and  radiant  sea-shell,  thrown  up  for  me  on  the  sand  ; 
— nay,  never  once  so  much  as  thinking,  of  the  fair  shell 
iiM-If,  "Who  built  its  domed  whorls,  then  ?"  or  "What 
manner  of  creature  lives  in  the  inside?"  Much  less 
ever  asking,  "Who  is  lying  dead  therein  ?" 

2.  A  marvellous  thing — the  Protestant  mind  !  Don't 
think  I  speak  as  a  Roman  Catholic,  good  reader:  I  am  a 
mere  wandering  Arab,  if  that  will  less  alarm  you,  seeking 
but  iny  cup  of  cold  water  in  the  desert ;  and  I  speak  only 


76  ST.  MAKE'S  BEST, 

as  an  Arab,  or  an  Indian, — with  faint  hope  of  ever  seeing 
the  ghost  of  Laughing  Water.  A  marvellous  thing,  nev- 
ertheless, I  repeat, — this  Protestant  mind  !  Down  in 
Brixton  churchyard,  all  the  fine  people  lie  inside  railings, 
and  their  relations  expect  the  passers-by  to  acknowledge 
reverently  who's  there: — nay,  only  last  year,  in  my  own 
Cathedral  churchyard  of  Oxford.  I  saw  the  new  grave  of 
a  young  girl  fenced  about  duly  with  carved  stone,  and 
overlaid  with  flowers  ;  and  thought  no  shame  to  kneel  for 
a  minute  or  two  at  the  foot  of  it, — though  there  were  sev- 
eral good  Protestant  persons  standing  by. 

But  the  old  leaven  is  yet  so  strong  in  me  that  I  am  very 
shy  of  being  caught  by  any  of  my  country  people  kneel- 
ing near  St.  Mark's  grave. 

"Because — you  know — it's  all  nonsense:  it  isn't  St. 
Mark's — and  never  was," — say  my  intellectual  English 
knot  of  shocked  friends. 

I  suppose  one  must  allow  much  to  modern  English  zeal 
for  genuineness  in  all  commercial  articles.  Be  it  so. 
Whether  God  ever  gave  the  Venetians  what  they  thought 
He  had  given,  does  not  matter  to  us;  He  gave  them  at 
least  joy  and  peace  in  their  imagined  treasure,  more  than 
we  have  in  our  real  ones. 

And  he  gave  them  the  good  heart  to  build  this  chapel 
over  the  cherished  grave,  and  to  write  on  the  walls  of  it, 
St.  Mark's  gospel,  for  all  eyes, — and,  so  far  as  their  power 
went,  for  all  time. 

3.  But  it  was  long  before  I  learned  to  read  that ;  and 
even  when,  with  Lord  Lindsay's  first  help,  I  had  begun 
spelling  it  out, — the  old  Protestant  palsy  still  froze  my 
heart,  though  my  eyes  were  unsealed ;  and  the  preface  to 
the  Stones  of  Venice  was  spoiled,  in  the  very  centre  of  its 


THE  BEQUTEM.  77 

otherwise  good  work  by  that  blunder,  which  I've  left 
standing  in  all  its  shame,  and  with  its  hat  off — like  Dr. 
Johnson  repentant  in  Lichfield  Market, — only  putting  the 
note  to  it  "  Fool  that  I  was  !  "  (page  11).*  I  fancied  act- 
ually that  the  main  function  of  St.  Mark's  was  no  more 
than  of  our  St.  George's  at  Windsor,  to  be  tire  private 
chapel  of  the  king  and' his  knights  ; — a  blessed  function 
that  also, .but  how  much  lower  than  the  other? 

4.  "  Ghiesa  DUCALE."  It  never  entered  my  heart  once 
to  think  that  there  was  a  greater  Duke  than  her  Doge, 
for  Venice ;  and  that  she  built,  for  her  two  Dukes,  each 
their  palace,  side  by  side.  The  palace  of  the  living,  and 
of  the, — Dead, — was  he  then — the  other  Duke  \ 

"  VIVA  SAN  MAKCO." 

You  wretched  little  cast-iron  gaspipe  of  a  cockney  that 
you  are,  who  insist  that  your  soul's  your  own,  (see 
"  Punch  "  for  loth  March,  1879,  on  the  duties  of  Lent,) 
as  if  anybody  else  would  ever  care  to  have  it !  is  there  yet 
life  enough  in  the  molecules,  and  plasm,  and  general  mess 
of  the  making  of  you,  to  feel  for  an  instant  what  that  cry 
once  meant,  upon  the  lips  of  men  ? 

Viva,  Italia!  you  may  still  hear  that  cry  sometimes, 
though  she  lies  dead  enough.  Viva,  Vittor — Pieani ! — 
perhaps  also  that  cry,  yet  again. 

But  the  answer, — "  Not  Pisani,  but  St.  Mark,"  when 
will  you  hear  tlat  again,  nowadays  ?  Yet  when  those 

*  Scott  himself  (God  knows  I  say  it  sorrowfully,  and  not  to  excuse  my 
own  error,  but  to  prevent  his  from  doing  more  mischief,)  has  made  just 
the  same  mistake,  but  more  grossly  and  fatally,  in  the  character  given 
to  the  Vmetiau  Procurator  in  the  "Talisman."  His  error  is  more 
shameful,  because  In-  lias  confused  the  institutions  of  Venice  in  the 
fifteenth  century  with  those  of  the  twelfth. 


78  ST.  MAEK'S  BEST. 

bronze  horses  were  won  by  the  Bosphorus,  it  was  St. 
Mark's  standard,  not  Henry  Dandolo's,  that  was  first 
planted  on  the  tower  of  Byzantium, — and  men  believed — 
by  his  own  hand.  While  yet  his  body  lay  here  at  rest :  and 
this,  its  requiem  on  the  golden  scroll,  was  then  already 
written  over  it — in  Hebrew,  and  Greek,  and  Latin. 

In  Hebrew,  by  the  words  of  the  prophets  of  Israel. 

In  Greek,  by  every  effort  of  the  building  labourer's 
hand,  and  vision  to  his  eyes. 

In  Latin,  with  the  rhythmic  verse  which  Virgil  had 
taught, — calm  as  the  flowing  of  Mincio. 

But  if  you  will  read  it,  you  must  understand  now,  once 
for  all,  the  method  of  utterance  in  Greek  art, — here,  and 
in  Greece,  and  in  Ionia,  and  the  isles,  from  its  first  days 
to  this  very  hour. 

5.  I  gave  you  the  bas-relief  of  the  twelve  sheep  and  lit- 
tle caprioling  lamb  for  a  general  type  of  all  Byzantine  art, 
to  fix  in  your  mind  at  once,  respecting  it,  that  its  intense 
first  character  is  symbolism.  The  thing  represented  means 
more  than  itself, — is  a  sign,  or  letter,  more  than  an  image. 

And  this  is  true,  not  of  Byzantine  art  only,  but  of  all 
Greek  art,  pur  sang.  Let  us  leave,  to-day,  the  narrow 
and  degrading  word  ';  Byzantine."  There  is  but  one 
Greek  school,  from  Homer's  day  down  to  the  Doge 
Selvo's;  and  these  St.  Mark's  mosaics  are  as  truly  wrought 
in  the  power  of  Daedalus,  with  the  Greek  constructive 
instinct,  and  in  the  power  of  Athena,  with  the  Greek  re- 
ligious soul,  as  ever  chest  of  Cypselus  or  shaft  of  Erech- 
theum.  And  therefore,  whatever  is  represented  here,  be 
it  flower  or  rock,  animal  or  man,  means  more  than  it  is  in 
itself.  Not  sheep,  these  twelve  innocent  woolly  things, — 
but  the  twelve  voices  of  the  gospel  of  heaven  ; — not  palm- 


VIIL    THE    REQUIEM.  79 

trees,  these  shafts  of  shooting  stein  and  beaded  fruit, — 
but  the  living  grace  of  God  in  the  heart,  springing  up  in 
joy  at  Christ's  coining  ; — not  a  king,  merely,  this  crowned 
creature  in  his  .sworded  state, — but  the  justice  of  God  in 
His  eternal  Law  ; — not  a  queen,  nor  a  maid  only,  this 
Madonna  in  her  purple  shade, — but  the  love  of  G.-d 
poured  forth,  in  the  wondert'ulness  that  passes  the  love  of 
woman.  She  may  forget — yet  will  I  not  forget  thee. 

G.  And  in  this  function  of  his  art,  remember,  it  does 
not  matter  to  the  Greek  how  far  his  image  be  perfect  or 
not.  That  it  should  be  understood  is  enough, — if  it  can 
be  beautiful  also,  well ;  but  its  function  is  not  beauty,  but 
instruction.  You  cannot  have  purer  examples  of  Greek 
art  than  the  drawings  on  any  good  vase  of  the  Maratho- 
nian  time.  Black  figures  on  a  red  ground, — a  lew  white 
scratches  through  them,  marking  the  joints  of  their 
armour  or  the  folds  of  their  robes, — white  circles  for 
eyes, — pointed  pyramids  for  beards, — you  don't  suppose 
that  in  these  the  Greek  workman  thought  he  had  given 
the  likeness  of  gods  ?  Yet  here,  to  his  imagination,  were 
Athena,  Poseidon,  and  TIerakles. — and  all  the  powers  that 
guarded  his  land,  and  cleansed  his  soul,  and  led  him  in. 
the  way  everlasting. 

7.  And  the  wider  your  knowledge  extends  over  the  dis- 
tant days  and  homes  of  sacred  art,  the  more  constantly 
and  clearlv  von  will  trace  the  rise  of  its  symbolic  function, 

.,  V  »  « 

from  the  rudest  fringe  of  racing  deer,  or  couchant  leo- 
pards, scratched  on  some  ill-kneaded  piece  of  clay,  when 
men  had  yet  scarcely  left  their  own  cave-couchant  life, — 
up  to  the  throne  of  Cimabue's  Madonna.  All  forms,  and 
ornaments,  and  images,  have  a  moral  meaning  as  a  nat- 
ural one.  Yet  out  of  all,  a  restricted  number,  chosen  for 


80  ST.  MAEK'S  BEST. 

an  alphabet,  are  recognized  always  as  given  letters,  of 
which  the  familiar  scripture  is  adopted  by  generation 
after  generation. 

8.  You  had  best  begin  reading  the  scripture  of  St. 
Mark's  on  the  low  cupolas  of  the  baptistery, — entering,  as 
I  asked  you  many  a  day  since,  to  enter,  under  the  tomb 
of  the  Doge  Andrea  Dandolo. 

You  see,  the  little  chamber  consists  essentially  of  two 
parts,  each  with  its  low  cupola  :  one  containing  the  Font, 
the  other  the  Altar. 

The  one  is  significant  of  Baptism  with  water  unto  re- 
pentance. 

The  other  of  Resurrection  to  newness  of  life. 

Burial,  in  baptism  with  water,  of  the  lusts  of  the  flesh. 
Resurrection,  in  baptism  by  the  spirit — here,  and  now,  to 
the  beginning  of  life  eternal. 

Both  the  cupolas  have  Christ  for  their  central  figure  : 
surrounded,  in  that  over  the  font,  by  the  Apostles  baptiz- 
ing with  water  ;  in  that  over  the  altar,  surrounded  by  the 
Powers  of  Heaven,  baptizing  with  the  Holy  Ghost  and 
with  fire.  Each  of  the  Apostles,  over  the  font,  is  seen 
baptizing  in  the  country  to  which  he  is  sent. 

Their  legends,  written  above  them,  begin  over  the  door  of 
entrance  into  the  church,  with  St.  John  the  Evangelist, 
and  end  with  St.  Mark— the  order  of  all  being  as  follows  :— 

St.  John  the  Evangelist  baptizes  in  Ephesus. 

St.  James -  Judaea. 

St.  Philip  _  -  Phrygia. 

St.  Matthew  _  —  Ethiopia. 

St.  Simon Egypt. 

St.  Thomas India. 


VIII.   THE  REQUIEM.  81 

St.  Andrew : .  Acliaia. 

St.  Peter   Rome. 

St.  Bartholomew  (legend  indecipherable). 

St.  Thaddeus Mesopotamia. 

St.  Matthias  .  Palestine. 

St.  Mark ^ Alexandria. 

Over  the  door  is  Herod's  feast.  Herodias'  daughter 
dances  with  St.  John  Baptist's  head  in  the  charger,  on 
her  head, — simply  the  translation  of  any  Greek  maid  on 
a  Greek  vase,  bearing  a  pitcher  of  water  on  her  head. 

I  am  not  sure,  but  I  believe  the  picture  is  meant  to  rep- 
resent the  two  separate  times  of  Herod's  dealing' with  St. 
John  ;  and  that  the  figure  at  the  end  of  the  table  is  in  the 
former  time,  St.  John  saying  to  him,  "  It  is  not  lawful  for 
thee  to  have  her." 

9.  Pass  on  now  into  the  farther  chapel  under  the  darker 
dome. 

Darker,  and  very  dark ; — to  my  old  eyes,  scarcely  deci- ' 
pherable  ; — to  yours,  if  young  and  bright,  it  should  be  beau- 
tiful, for  it  is  indeed  the  origin  of  all  those  golden-domed 
backgrounds  of  Bellini,  and  Cima,  and  Carpaccio;  itself  a 
Greek  vase,  but  with  new  Gods.  That  ten-winged  cherub 
in  the  recess  of  it,  behind  the  altar,  has  written  on  the 
circle  on  its  breast,  "  Fulness  of  Wisdom."  It  is  the  type 


ui 
x  0* 

4*  SO0 


Cii  ST.   MAEK  S  BEST. 

of  the  Breath  of  the  Spirit.  But  it  was  once  a  Greek 
Harp}-,  and  its  wasted  limbs  remain,  scarcely  yet  clothed 
with  flesh  from  the  claws  of  birds  that  they  were. 

At  the  sides  of  it  are  the  two  powers  of  the  Seraphim  and 
Thrones:  the  Seraphim  with  sword  ;  the  Thrones  (TRONIS), 
with  Fleur-de-lys  sceptre, — lovely. 

Opposite,  on  the  arch  by  which  yon  entered  are  The 
"Virtues,  (VIRTUTES). 

A  dead  body  lies  under  a  rock,  out  of  which  spring 
two  torrents — one  of  water,  one  of  fire.  The  Angel  of 
the  Virtues  calls  on  the  dead  to  rise. 

Then  the  circle  is  thus  completed  : 

' 

1 

8  2 

7.  3 


1,  being  the  Wisdom  angel ;  8,  the  Seraphim ;  2,  the 
Thrones  ;  and  5,  the  Virtues.  3.  Dominations.  4.  Angels. 
6,  Potentates.  7.  Princes:  the  last  with  helm  and  sword. 

Above,  Christ  Himself  ascends,  borne  in  a  whirlwind 
of  angels;  and,  as  the  vaults  of  Bellini  and  Carpaccio  are 
only  the  amplification  of  the  Harpy- Vault,  so  the  Paradise 
of  Tintoret  is  only  the  final  fulfilment  of  the  thought  in 
this  narrow  cupola. 

10.  At  your  left  hand,  as  you  look  towards  the  altar,  is 
the  most  beautiful  symbolic  design  of  the  Baptist's  death 
that  I  know  in  Italy.  Herodias  is  enthroned,  not  merely 


VIEL  THE   REQUIEM.  83 

as  queen  at  Herod's  table,  but  high  and  alone,  the  type  of 
the  Power  of  evil  in 'pride  of  womanhood,  through  the 
past  and  future  world,  until  Time  shall  be  no  longer. 

On  her  right  band  is  St.  John's  execution  ;  on  her  left, 
the  Christian  disciples,  marked  by  their  black  crosses,  bear 
his  body  to  the  tomb. 

It  is  a'four-square  canopy,  round  arched ;  of  the  exact 
type  of  that  in  the  museum  at  Perugia, given  to  the  ninth 
century ;  but  that  over  Herodias  is  round- tref oiled,  and 
there  is  no  question  but  that  these  mosaics  are  not  earlier 
than  the  thirteenth  century. 

And  yet  they  are  still  absolutely  Greek  in  all  modes  of 
thought,  and  forms  of  tradition.  The  Fountains  of  fire 
and  water  are  merely  forms  of  the  Chimera  and  the 
Peirene ;  and  the  maid  dancing,  though  a  princess  of 
the  thirteenth  century  in  sleeves  of  ermine,  is  yet  the 
phantom  of  some  sweet  water-carrier  from  an  Arcadian 
spring. 

11.  These  mosaics  are  the  only  ones  in  the  interior  of 
the  church  which  belong"  to  the  time  (1204)   when  its 
facade  was  completed  by  the  placing  of  the  Greek  horses 
over  its  central  arch,  and  illumined  by  the  lovely  series  of 
mosaics  still  represented  in  Gentile  Bellini's  pictures,  of 
which  only  one  now  remains.    That  one,  left  nearly  intact 
— as  Fate  has  willed — represents  the  church  itself  so  com- 
pleted ;  and  the  bearing  of  the  body  of  St.  Mark  into  its 
gale-,  with  all  the  groat  kings  and  queens  who  have  visited 
his  shrine,  standing  to  look  on  ;  not  conceived,  mind  you, 
as  present  at  any  actual  time,  but  as  always  looking  on  in 
their  hearts. 

12.  I  say  it  is  left  nearly  intact.     The  three  figures  on 
the  extreme  right  are  restorations;  and  if  the  reader  will 


84:  ST.  MAKE'S  BEST. 

carefully  study  the  difference  between  these  and  the  rest ; 
and  note  how  all  the  faults  of  the  old  work  are  caricatured, 
and  every  one  of  its  beauties  lost — so  that  the  faces  which 
in  the  older  figures  are  grave  or  sweet,  are  in  these  three 
new  ones  as  of  staring  dolls, — he  will  know,  once  for  all, 
what  kind  of  thanks  he  owes  to  the  tribe  of  Restorers — 
here  and  elsewhere. 

Please  note,  farther,  that  at  this  time  the  church  had 
round  arches  in  the  second  story,  (of  which  the  shells  exist 
yet,)  but  no  pinnacles  or  marble  fringes.  All  that  termi- 
nal filigree  is  of  a  far  later  age.  I  take  the  facade  as  you 
see  it  stood — just  after  1204 — thus  perfected.  And  I  will 
tell  you,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  meaning  of  it,  and  of  what 
it  led  to,  piece  by  piece. 

13.  I  begin  with  the  horses, — those  I  saw  in  my  dream 
in  1871, — "putting  on  their  harness."  See  "Ariadne 
Florentina,"  p.  203. 

These  are  the  sign  to  Europe  of  the  destruction  of  the 
Greek  Empire  by  the  Latin.  They  are  chariot  horses — 
the  horses  of  the  Greek  quadriga, — and  they  were  the 
trophies  of  Henry  Dandolo.  .That  is  all  you  need  know  of 
them  just  now; — more,  I  hope,  hereafter;  but  you  must 
learn  the  meaning  of  a  Greek  quadriga  first.  They  stand  on 
the  great  outer  archivolt  of  the  facade :  its  ornaments,  to 
the  front,  are  of  leafage  closing  out  of  spirals  into  balls 
interpo'sed  between  the  figures  of  eight  Prophets  (or 
Patriarchs  ?) — Christ  in  their  midst  on  the  keystone.  Xo 
one  would  believe  at  first  it  was  thirteenth-century  work, 
so  delicate  and  rich  as  it  looks;  nor  is  there  anything  else 
like  it  that  I  know,  in  Europe,  of  the  date : — but  pure 
thirteenth-century  work  it  is,  of  rarest  chiselling.  I  have 
cast  two  of  its  balls  with  their  surrounding  leafage,  for  St. 


THE    REQUIEM.  85 

George's  Museum  ;  the  most  instructive  pieces  of  sculpture 
of  all  i  can  ever  show  there. 

14.  Nor  can  you  at  all  know  how  good  it  is,  unless  you 
will  lea  in  to  draw:  but  some  things  concerning  it  may 
be  seen,  by  attentive  eyes,  which  are  worth  the  dwelling 
upon. 

You  see,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  outer  foliage  is  all 
of  one  kind — pure  Greek  Acanthus, — not  in  the  least 
transforming  itself  into  ivy,  or  kale,  or  rose:  trusting 
wholly  for  its  beauty  to  the  varied  play  of  its  own  narrow 
and  pointed  lobes. 

Narrow  and  pointed — but  not  jagged  ;  for  the  jagged 
form  of  Acanthus,  look  at  the  two  Jean  d'Acre  columns, 
and  return  to  this — you  will  then  feel  why  I  call  \tpure,' 
it  is  as  nearly  as  possible  the  acanthus  of  early  Corinth, 
only  more  flexible,  and  with  more  incipient  blending  of 
the  character  of  the  vine  which  is  used  for  the  central 
bosses.  You  see  that  each  leaf  of  these  last  touches  with 
its  point  a  stellar  knot  of  inwoven  braid  ;  (compare  the  or- 
nament round  the  low  archivolt  of  the  porch  on  your 
right  below),  the  outer  acanthus  folding  all  in  spiral 
whorls. 

l.">.  Now  all  thirteenth-century  ornament  of  every  na- 
tion runs  much  into  spirals,  and  Irish  and  Scandinavian 
earlier  decoration  into  little  else.  But  these  spirals  are 
different  from  theirs.  The  Northern  spiral  is  always 
elastic — like  that  of  a  watch-spring.  The  Greek  spiral, 
drifted  like  that  of  a  whirlpool,  or  whirlwind.  It  is 
always  an  eddy  or  vortex — not  a  living  rod,  like  the  point 
<>t'  ;;  young  fern. 

At  least,  not  living  its  own  life — but  under  another  life. 
It  is  under  the  power  of  the  Queen  of  the  Air;  the  power 


86  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

also  that  is  over  the  Sea.  and  over  the  human  mind.  The 
first  leaves  I  ever  drew  from  St.  Mark's  were  those  drifted 
under  the  breathing  of  it;*  these  on  its  uppermost  cor- 
nice, far  lovelier,  are  the  final  peifection  of  the  Ionic 
spiral,  and  of  the  thought  in  the  temple  of  the  Winds. 

But  perfected  under  a  new  influence.  I  said  there  was 
nothing  like  them  (that  I  knew)  in  European  architecture. 
But  there  is,  in  Eastern.  They  are  only  the  amplification 
of  the  cornice  over  the  arches  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  at 
Jerusalem. 

16.  I  have  been  speaking  hitherto  of  the  front  of  the 
arch  only.  Underneath  it,  the  sculpture  is  equally  rich, 
and  much  more  animated.  It  represents, — What  think 
you,  or  what  would  you  have,  good  reader,  if  you  were 
yourself  designing  the  central  archivolt  of  your  native 
city,  to  companion,  and  even  partly  to  sustain,  the  stones 
on  which  those  eight  Patriarchs  were  carved — and 
Christ  ? 

The  great  men  of  your  city,  I  suppose, — or  the  good 
women  of  it?  or  the  squires  round  about  it?  with  the 
Muster  of  the  hounds  in  the  middle  ?  or  the  Mayor  and 
Corporation  ?  Well.  That  last  guess  comes  near  the 
Venetian  mind,  only  it  is  not  my  Lord  Mayor,  in  his  robes 
of  state,  nor  the  Corporation  at  their  city  feast ;  but.  the 
mere  Craftsmen  of  Venice — the  Trades,  that  is  to  say,  de- 
pending on  handicraft,  beginning  with  the  shipwrights, 
and  going  on  to  the  givers  of  wine  and  bread — ending 
with  the  carpenter,  the  smith,  and  the  fisherman. 

Beginning,  I  say,  if  read  from  left  to  right,  (north  to 
south,)  with  the  shipwrights ;  but  under  them  is  a  sitting 

*  See  the  large  plate  of  two  capitals  in  early  folio  illustrations. 


THE   REQUIEM.  87 

figure,  though  sitting,  yet  supported  by  crutches.  I  can- 
not read  this  symbol :  one  may  fancy  many  meanings  in 
it, — but  I  do  not  trust  fancy  in  such  matters.  Unless  I 
know  what  a  symbol  means,  I  do  not  tell  you  my  own 
thoughts  of  it. 

17.  If,  however,  we  read  from  right  to  left,  Oriental- 
wise,  the  order  would  be  more  intelligible.     It  is  then 
thus : 

1.  Fi si i ing. 

2.  Forging. 

3.  Sawing.     Rough  carpentry? 

4.  Cleaving  wood  with  axu.     Wheelwright  ? 

5.  Cask  and  tub  making. 

6.  Barber-surgery. 

7.  W  caving. 

Keystone — Christ  the  Lamb  ;  i.e.,  in  humiliation. 

8.  Masonry. 

9.  Pottery. 

10.  The  Butcher. 

11.  The  Baker. 

12.  The  Vintner. 

13.  The  Shipwright.     And 

14.  The  rest  of  old  age  ? 

18.  But  it  is  not  here  the  place  to  describe  these  carv- 
ings to  you, — there  are  none  others  like  them  in  Venice 
except  the  bases  of  the  piazzetta  shafts ;  and  there  is  little 
work  like  them  elsewhere,  pure  realistic  sculpture  of  the 
twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries :  1  may  have  much  to  say 
of  them  in  their  day — not  now. 

Under  these  labourers  you  may  read,  in  large  letters,  a 
piece  of  history  from  the  Vienna  Morning  Post — or  what- 


88  ST.  MAEK'S  BEST. 

ever  the  paper  was — of  the  year  1815,  with  which  we  are 
not  concerned,  nor  need  anybody  else  be  so,  to  the  end  of 
time. 

Mot  with  that;  nor  with  the  mosaic  of  the  vault  beneath 
— flaunting  glare  of  Venetian  art  in  its  ruin.  jSTo  vestige 
of  old  work  remains  till  we  come  to  those  steps  of  stone 
ascending  on  each  side  over  the  inner  archivolt ;  /"a  strange 
method  of  enclosing  its  curve  ;  but  done  with  special  pur- 
pose. If  you  look  in  the  Bellini  picture,  you  will  see  that 
these  steps  formed  the  rocky  midst  of  a  mountain  which 
rose  over  them  for  the  ground,  in  the  old  mosaic ;  the 
Mount  of  the  Beatitudes,  And  on  the  vault  above,  stood 
Christ  blessing  for  ever — not  as  standing  on  the  Mount, 
but  supported  above  it  by  Angels. 

19.  And  on  the  archivolt  itself  were  carved  the  Virtues 
— with,  it  is  said,  the  Beatitudes;  but  I  am  not  sure  yet 
of  anything  in  this  archivolt,  except  that  it  is  entirely 
splendid  twelfth-century  sculpture.  I  had  the  separate 
figures  cast  for  my  English  museum,  and  put  off  the  ex- 
amination of  them  when  I  was  overworked.  The  Forti- 
tude, Justice,  Faith,  and  Temperance  are  clear  enough  on 
the  right — and  the  keystone  figure  is  Constancy,  but  I  am 
sure  of  nothing  else  yet:  the  less  that  interpretation  partly 
depended  on  the  scrolls,  of  which  the  letters  were  gilded, 
not  carved  : — the  figures  also  gilded,  in  Bellini's  time. 

Then  the  innermost  archivolt  of  all  is  of  mere  twelfth- 
century  grotesque,  unworthy  of  its  place.  But  there  were 
so  many  entrances  to  the  atrium  that  the  builders  did  not 
care  to  trust  special  teaching  to  any  one,  even  the  central, 
except  as  a  part  of  the  facade.  The  atrium,  or  outer 
cloister  itself,  was  the  real  porch  of  the  temple.  And 
that  they  covered  with  as  close  scripture  as  they  could 


vm.  THE  EEQUIEM.  89 

— the  whole   Creation   and  Book   of    Genesis   pictured 
on  it. 

20.  These  are   the  mosaics  usually   attributed  to   the 
Doge  Selvo :  I  cannot  myself  date  any  mosaics  securely 
with  precision,  never  having  studied  the  technical  struc- 
ture of  them  ;  and  these  also  are  different  from  the  others 
of  St.  Mark's  in  being  more  Norman  than  Byzantine  in 
manner;    and  in   an   ugly  admittance   and   treatment  of 
nude  form,  which  I  find  only  elsewhere  in  manuscripts 
of  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries  of  the  school  of  Monte 
Cassino  and  South  Italy.     On  the  other  hand,  they  possess 
some  qualities  of  thought  and  invention  almost  in  a  sub- 
lime degree.     But  I  believe  Selvo  had  better  work  done 
under  him  than  these.     Better  work  at  all   events,  you 
shall  now  see — if  you  will.     You  must  get  hold  of  the 
man  who  keeps  sweeping  the  dust  about,  in  St.  Mark's; 
very  thankful  he  will  be,  for  a  lira,  to  take  you  up  to  the 
gallery  on  the  right-hand  side,  (south,  of  St.  Mark's  in- 
terior ;)  from  which  gallery,  where  it  turns  into  the  south 
transept,  you  may  see,  as  well  as  it  is  possible  to  see,  the 
mosaic  of  the  central  dome. 

21.  Christ  enthroned  on  a  rainbow,  in  a  sphere  sup- 
ported by  four  flying  angels  underneath,  forming  white 
pillars  of  caryatid    mosaic.     Between   the  windows;  the 
twelve  apostles,  and  the  Madonna, — alas,  the  head  of  this 
principal  figure  frightfully  "  restored,"  and  I  think  the 
greater  part  of  the  central  subject.    Round  the  circle  enclos- 
ing Christ  is  written,  u  Ye  men  of  Galilee,  why  stand  ye  at 
gaze  ?   This  Son  of  God,  Jesus,  so  taken  from  you,  departs 
that  He,  may  be  the  arbiter  of  the  earth  :  in  charge  of  judg- 
ment He  comes,  and  to  (jive  the  laics  that  ought  to  be." 

22.  Such,  you  see,  the  central  thought  of  Venetian  wor- 


90  ST.  MARK'S  BEST. 

ship.  Not  that  we  shall  leave  the  world,  but  that  our 
Master  will  come  to  it :  and  such  the  central  hope  of 
Venetian  worship,  that  He  shall  come  to  judge  the  world 
indeed  ;  not  in  a  last  and  destroying  judgment,  but  in  an 
enduring  and  saving  judgment,  in  truth  and  righteousness 
and  peace.  Catholic  theology  of  the  purest,  lasting  at  all 
events  down  to  the  thirteenth  century  ;  or  as  long  as  the 
Byzantines  had  influence.  For  these  are  typical  Byzan- 
tine conceptions :  how  far  taken  up  and  repeated  by 
Italian  workers,  one  cannot  say  :  but  in  their  gravity  of 
purpose,  meagre  thinness  of  form,  and  rigid  drapery  lines, 
to  be  remembered  by  you  with  distinctness  as  expressing 
the  first  school  of  design  in  Venice,  comparable  in  an  in- 
stant with  her  last  school  of  design,  by  merely  glancing  to 
the  end  of  the  north  transept,  where  that  rich  piece  of 
foliage,  full  of  patriarchs,  was  designed  by  Paul  Veronese. 
And  what  a  divine  picture  it  might  have  been,  if  he  had 
only  minded  his  own  business,  and  let  the  mosaic  workers 
mind  theirs! — even  now  it  is  the  only  beautiful  one  of 
the  late  mosaics,  and  shows  a  new  phase  of  the  genius  of 
Veronese.  All  I  want  yon  to  feel,  however,  is  the  differ- 
ence of  temper  from  the  time  when  people  liked  the  white 
pillar-like  figures  of  the  dome,  to  that  when  they  liked 
the  dark  exuberance  of  those  in  the  transept. 

23.  But  from  this  coign  of  vantage  you  may  see  much 
more.  Just  opposite  you,  and  above,  in  the  arch  crossing 
the  transept  between  its  cupola  and  the  central  dome,  are 
mosaics  of  Christ's  Temptation,  and  of  his  entrance  to 
Jerusalem.  The  upper  one,  of  the  Temptation,  is  en- 
tirely characteristic  of  the  Byzantine  mythic  manner  of 
teaching.  On  the  left,  Christ  sits  in  the  rocky  cave  which 
has  sheltered  Him  for  the  forty  days  of  fasting  :  out  of 


THE   REQUIEM.  9l 

the  rock  above  issues  a  spring — meaning  that  He  drank  of 
the  waters  that  spring  np  to  everlasting  life,  of  which 
whoso  drinks  shall  never  thirst ;  and  in  His  hand  is  a 
book — the  living  Word  of  God,  which  is  His  bread.  The 
Devil  holds  iip  the  stones  in  his  lap. 

Next  the  temptation  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  Temple, 
symbolic  again,  wholly,  as  you  see, — in  very  deed  quite 
impossible :  so  also  that  on  the  mountain,  where  the 
treasures  of  the  world  are,  I  think,  represented  by  the 
glittering  fragments  on  the  mountain  top.  Finally,  the 
falling  Devil,  cast  down  head-foremost  in  the  air,  and  ap- 
proaching angels  in  ministering  troops,  complete  the  story. 

24.  And  on  the  whole,  these  pictures  are  entirely  rep- 
resentative to  yon  of  the  food  which  the  Venetian  mind 
had  in  art,  down  to  the  day  of  the  Doge  Selvo.  Those 
were  the  kind  of  images  and  shadows  they  lived  on :  you 
may  think  of  them  what  you  please,  but  the  historic  fact 
is,  beyond  all  possible  debate,  that  these  thin  dry  bones 
of  art  were  nourishing  meat  to  the  Venetian  race  :  that 
they  grew  and  throve  on  that  diet,  every  day  spiritually 
fatter  for  it,  and  more  comfortably  round  in  human 
soul : — no  illustrated  papers  to  be  Jiad,  no  Academy  Ex- 
hibition to  be  seen.  If  their  eyes  were  to  be  entertained 
at  all,  such  must  be  their  lugubrious  delectation ;  pleasure 
difficult  enough  to  imagine,  but  real  and  pure,  I  doubt 
not ;  even  passionate.  In  as  quite  singularly  incompre- 
hensible fidelity  of  sentiment,  my  cousin's  least  baby  has 
fallen  ia  love  with  a  wooden  spoon ;  Paul  not  more 
devoted  to  Virginia.  The  two  are  inseparable  all  about 
the  house,  vainly  the  unimaginative  bystanders  endeavour- 
ing to  perceive,  for  their  part,  any  amiableness  in  the 
spoon.  But  baby  thrives  in -his  pacific  attachment, — nay, 


92  ST.  MAKE'S  BEST. 

is  under  the  most  perfect  moral  control,  pliant  as  a  reed, 
under  the  slightest  threat  of  being  parted  from  his  spoon. 
And  I  am  assured  that  the  crescent  Venetian  imagination 
did  indeed  find  pleasantness  in  these  figures ;  more  es- 
pecially,—which  is  notable — in  the  extreme  .emaciation  of 
them, — a  type  of  beauty  kept  in  their  hearts  down  to  the 
Yivarini  days ;  afterwards  rapidly  changing  to  a  very 
opposite  ideal  indeed. 

25.  Nor  even  in  its  most  ascetic  power,  disturbing  these 
conceptions  of  what  was  fitting  and  fair  in  their  own  per- 
sons, or  as  a  nation  of  fishermen.     They  have  left  us,  hap- 
pily, a  picture  of  themselves,  at  their  greatest  time — un- 
noticed, so  far  as  I  can  read,  by  any  of  their  historians, 
but  left  for  poor  little  me  to  discover — and  that  by  chance 
• — like  the  inscription  on  St.  James's  of  the  Rialto. 

But  before  going  on  to  see  this,  look  behind  you,  where 
you  stand,  at  the  mosaic  on  the  west  wall  of  the  south 
transept. 

It  is  not  Byzantine,  but  rude  thirteenth-century,  and  for- 
tunately left,  being  the  representation  of  an  event  of  some 
import  to  Venice,  the  recovery  of  the  lost  body  of  St.  Mark. 

You  may  find  the  story  told,  with  proudly  polished,  or 
loudly  impudent,  incredulity,  in  any  modern  guide-book. 
I  will  not  pause  to  speak  of  it  here,  nor  dwell,  yet,  on  this 
mosaic,  which  is  clearly  later  than  the  story  it  tells  by  two 
hundred  years.  We  will  go  on  to  the  picture  which  shows 
us  things  as  they  ivere,  in  its  time. 

26.  You  must  go  round  the  transept  gallery,  and  get 
the  door  opened  into  the  compartment  of  the  eastern  aisle, 
in  which  is  the  organ.     And  going  to  the  other  side  of 
the  square  stone  gallery,  and  looking  back  from  behind 
the  organ,  you  will  see  opposite,  on  the  vault,  a  mosaic  of 


VHI.  T^F  REQUIEM.  93 


upright  figures  in  dresses  of  blue,  green,  purple,  and  white, 
variously  embroidered  with  gold. 

These  represent,  as  you  are  told  by  the  inscription  above 
them  —  the  Priests,  the  Clergy,  the  Doge,  and  the  people 
of  Venice  ;  and  are  an  abstract,  at  least,  or  epitome  of 
those  personages,  as  they  were,  and  felt  themselves  to  be, 
in  those  days. 

I  believe,  early  twelfth-century  —  late  eleventh  it  might 
be  —  later  twelfth  it  may  be,  —  it  does  not  matter  :  these 
were  the  people  of  Venice  in  the  central  time  of  her  un- 
wearied life,  her  unsacrificed  honour,  her  unabated  power, 
and  sacred  'faith.  Her  Doge  wears,  not  the  contracted 
shell-like  cap,  but  the  imperial  crown.  Her  priests  and 
clergy  are  alik;e  mitred  —  not  with  the  cloven,  but  simple, 
cap,  like  the  conical  helmet  of  a  knight.  Her  people  are 
also  her  soldiers,  and  their  Captain  bears  his  sword, 
sheathed  in  black. 

So  far  as  features  could  be  rendered  in  the  rude  time, 
the  faces  are  all  noble  —  (one  horribly  restored  figure  on 
the  right  shows  what  tj/nobleness,  on  this  large  scale, 
modern  brutality  and  ignorance  can  reach)  ;  for  the  most 
part,  dark-eyed,  but  the  Doge  brown-eyed  and  fair-haired, 
the  long  tresses  falling  on  his  shoulders,  and  his  beard 
braided  like  that  of  an  Etruscan  king. 

27.  And  this  is  the  writing  over  them. 

PONTIFICES.     CLEKUS.     POPULUS.     Dux  MENTE  SEKE- 

NUS.* 

*  The  continuing  couplet  of  monkish  Latin, 
"  Laudibus  atque  choris 

Excipiunt  dulce  canons," 

may  perhaps  have  been  made  worse  or  less  efficient  Latin  by  some  mis- 
take  in  restoration. 


94  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

The  Priests,  the  Clergy,  the  People,  the  Duke,  serene 
of  mind. 

Most  Serene  Highnesses  of  all  the  after  Time  and 
World, — how  many  of  you  knew,  or  know,  what  this 
Venice,  first  to  give  the  title,  meant  by  her  Duke's  Seren- 
ity !  and  why  she  trusted  it  ? 

The  most  precious  "  historical  picture "  this,  to  my 
mind,  of  any  in  worldly  gallery,  or  unworldly  cloister, 
east  or  west ;  but  for  the  present,  all  I  care  for  you  to 
learu  of  it,  is  that  these  were  the  kind  of  priests,  and  peo- 
ple, and  kings,  who  wrote  this  Requiem  of  St.  Mark,  of 
which,  now,  we  will  read  what  more  we  may. 

28.  If  you  go  up  in  front  of  the  organ,  you  may  see, 
better  than  from  below,  the  mosaics  of  the  eastern  dome. 

This  part  of  the  church  must  necessarily  have  been  h'rst 
completed,  because  it  is  over  the  altar  and  shrine.  In  it, 
the  teaching  of  the  Mosaic  legend  begins,  and  in  a  sort 
ends ; — "  Christ  the  King,"  foretold  of  Prophets — de- 
clared of  Evangelists — born  of  a  Virgin  in  due  time ! 

But  to  understand  the  course  of  legend,  you  must  know 
what  the  Greek  teachers  meant  by  an  Evangelion,  as  dis- 
tinct from  a  Prophecy.  Prophecy  is  here  thought  of  in  its 
narrower  sense  as  the  foretelling  of  a  good  that  is  to  be. 

But  an  Evangelion  is  the  voice  of  the  Messenger,  say- 
ing, it  is  here. 

And  the  four  mystic  Evangelists,  under  the  figures  of 
living  creatures,  are  not  types  merely  of  the  men  that  are 
to  bring  the  Gospel  message,  but  of  the  power  of  that 
message  in  all  Creation — so  far  as  it  was,  and  is,  spoken  in 
all  living  things,  and  as  the  Word  of  God,  which  is  Christ, 
was  present,  and  not  merely  prophesied,  in  the  Creatures 
of  His  hand. 


VIII.   THE  REQUIEM.  95 

20.  Yon  will  find  m  your  Murray,  and  other  illumined 
writings  of  the  nineteenth  century,  various  explanations 
given  of  the  meaning  of  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark  —  derived, 
they  occasionally  mention,  (nearly  as  if  it  had  been  de- 
rived by  accident!)  from  the  description  of  Ezekiel.* 
"Which,  perhaps,  you  may  have  read  once  on  a  time, 
though  even  that  is  doubtful  in  these  blessed  days  of  sci- 
entific education  ;  —  but,  boy  or  girl,  man  or  woman,  of 
you,  not  one  in  a  thousand,  if  one,  has  ever,  I  am  -well  as- 
sured, asked  what  \vas  the  nxe  of  Ezckiel's  Vision,  either 
to  Ezekiel,  or  to  anybody  else  ;  any  more  than  I  used  to 
think,  myself,  what  St.  Mark's  was  built  for. 

In  case  you  have  not  a  Bible  with  you,  I  must  be  tedi- 
ous enough  to  reprint  the  essential  verses  here.  ^ 

30.  "  As  I  was  among  the  Captives  by  the  Iliver  of 
Chebar,  the  Heavens  were  opened,  and  I  saw  visions  of 
God." 

(Fugitive  at  least,  —  and  all  but  captive,  —  by  the  Iliver 
of  the  deep  stream,  —  the  Venetians  perhaps  cared  yet  to 
hear  what  he  saw.) 

"In  the  fifth  year  of  King  Jehoiachin's  captivity,  the 
word  of  the  Lord  came  expressly  unto  Ezekiel  the  Priest." 

(We  also  —  we  Venetians  —  have  our  Pontifices  ;  we  also 
our  King.  May  we  not  hear?) 

"And  I  looked,  and,  behold,  a  whirlwind  came  out  of 
the  north,  and  a  fire  infolding  itself.  Also  in  the  midst 
thereof  wasf  the  likeness  of  Four  living  Creatures. 

"And  this  was  the  aspect  of  them  ;  the  Likeness  of  a 
n  was  upon  them. 


*  Or,  with  still  more  enlightened  Scripture  research,  from  "one  of 
the  visions  of  Daniel"  !     (Sketches,  etc.,  p.  18.) 
f  What  alterations  1  make  are  from  the  Septuagint. 


96  ST.  MAKE'S  BEST. 

"  And  every  one  had  four  faces,  and  every  one  four 
wings.  And  they  had  the  hands  of  a  Man  under  their 
wings.  And  their  wings  were  stretched  upward,  two 
wings  of  every  one  were  joined  one  to  another,  and  two 
covered  their  bodies.  And  when  they  went,  I  heard  the 
noise  of  their  wings,  like  the  noise  of  great  waters,  as  the 
voice  of  the  Almighty,  the  voice  of  speech,  the  noise  of 
an  Host." 

(To  us  in  Venice,  is  not  the  noise  of  the  great  waters 
known — and  the  noise  of  an  Host  ?  May  we  hear  also 
the  voice  of  the  Almighty  ?) 

"  And  they  went  every  one  straight  forward.  Whither 
the  Spirit  was  to  .go,  they  went.  And  this  was  the  like- 
ness of  their  faces :  they  four  had  the  face  of  a  Man  "  (to 
the  front),  "  and  the  face  of  a  Lion  on  the  right  side,  and 
the  face  of  an  Ox  on  the  left  side,  and "  (looking  back) 
"  the  face  of  an  Eagle." 

And  not  of  an  Ape,  then,  my  beautifully-browed  cock- 
ney friend  ? — the  unscientific  Prophet !  The  face  of  Man  ; 
and  of  the  wild  beasts  of  the  earth,  and  of  the  tame,  and 
of  the  birds  of  the  air.  This  was  the  Vision  of  the  Glory 
of  the  Lord. 

31.  "And  as  I  beheld  the  living  creatures,  behold,  one 
wheel  upon  the  earth,  by  the  living  creatures,  with  /c/.v 
four  faces,  .  .  .  and  their  aspect,  and  their  work,  was  as 
a  wheel  in  the  midst  of  a  wheel." 

Crossed,  that  is,  the  meridians  of  the  four  quarters  of 
the  earth.  (See  Holbein's  drawing  of  it  in  his  Old  Testa- 
ment series.) 

"  And  the  likeness  of  the  Firmament  upon  the  heads  of 
the  living  creatures  was  as  the  colour  of  the  terrible  crystal. 

"  And  there  was  a  voice  from  the  Firmament  that  was 


THE  REQUIEM.  97 

over  their  heads,  when  they  stood,  and  had  let  down  their 
wings. 

"And  above  the  Firmament  that  was  over  their  heads 
was  the  likeness  of  a  Throne ;  and  upon  the  likeness  of 
the  Throne  was  the  likeness  of  the  Aspect  of  a  Man 
above,  upon  it. 

"And  from  His  loins  round  about  I  saw  as  it  were  the 
appearance  of  fire  ;  and  it  had  brightness  round  about,  as 
the  bow  that  is  in  the  cloud  in  the  day  of  rain.  This  was 
the  appearance  of  the  likeness  of  the  Glory  of  the  Lord. 
And  when  I  saw  it,  I  fell  upon  my  face." 

32.  Can  any  of  us  do  the  like — or  is  it  worth  while  ? — 
with  only  apes'  faces  to  fall  upon,  and  the  forehead  that 
refuses  to  be  ashamed  ?  Or  is  there,  nowadays,  no  more 
anything  for  its  to  be  afraid  of,  or  to  be  thankful  for,  in 
all  the  wheels,  and  flame,  and  light,  of  earth  and  heaven  '. 

This  that  follows,  after  the  long  rebuke,  is  their  Evan- 
gelion.  This  the  sum  of  the  voice  that  speaks  in  them, 
(chap.  .\i.  16). 

"  Therefore  say,  Thus  saith  the  Lord.  Though  I  have 
cast  them  far  off  among  the  heathen,  yet  will  I  be  to 
them  as  a  little  sanctuary  in  the  places  whither  they  shall 
come. 

"  And  I  will  give  them  one  heart ;  and  I  will  put  a 
new  spirit  within  them;  and  I  will  take  the  stony  heart 
out  of  their  flesh,  and  will  give  them  a  heart  of  flesh. 
That  theymay  walk  in  my  statutes,  and  keep  mine  ordi- 
nances and  do  them,  and  they  shall  be  my  people,  and  I 
will  be  their  God. 

"  Then  did  the  Cherubims  lift  up  their  wings,  and  the 
wheels  beside  them,  and  the  glory  of  the  God  of  Israel 
was  over  them  above." 
5 


98  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

< 

33.  That  is  the  story  of  the  Altar- Vault  of  St.  Mark's, 
of  which  though  much  was  gone,  yet,  when  I  was  last  in 
Venice,  much  was  left,  wholly  lovely  and  mighty.  The 
principal  figure  of  the  Throned  Christ  was  indeed  forever 
destroyed  by  the  restorer;  but  the  surrounding  Prophets, 
and  the  Virgin  in  prayer,  at  least  retained  so  much  of 
their  ancient  colour  and  expression  as  to  be  entirely  noble, 
—if  only  one  had  nobility  enough  in  one's  own  thoughts 
to  forgive  the  failure  of  any  other  human  soul  to  speak 
clearly  what  it  had  felt  of  most  divine. 

My  notes  have  got  confused,  and  many  lost ;  and  now  I 
have  no  time  to  mend  the  thread  of  them  :  I  am  not  sure 
even  if  I  have  the  list  of  the  Prophets  complete ;  but 
these  following  at  least  you  will  find,  and  (perhaps  with 
others  between)  in  this  order — chosen,  each,  for  his  message 
concerning  Christ,  which  is  written  on  the  scroll  he  bears. 

3±. 

1.  On  the  Madonna's  left  hand,  Isaiah.     "  Behold, 

a  virgin  shall   conceive."     (Written  as  far  as 
"  Immanuel.") 

2.  Jeremiah.     "  Hie  est  in  quo, — Deus  Noster." 

3.  Daniel.     "  Cum  venerit  "  as  far  as  to  "  cessabit 

unctio." 

4.  Obadiah.     "  Ascendit  sanctus  in  Monte  Syon." 

5.  Habakkuk.     "  God  shall  come  from  the  South, 

and  the  Holy  One  from  Mount  Paran." 

6.  Hosea.     (Undeciphered.)  • 

7.  Jonah.     (Undeciphered.) 

8.  Zephaniah.     "  Seek  ye  the  Lord,  all  in  the  gen- 

tle time"  (in  mansueti  tempore). 

9.  Haggai.      "Behold,  the  desired  of  all  nations 

shall  come." 


THE   REQUIEM.  99 

10.  Zachariah.     "  Behold  a  man  whose  name  is  the 

Branch.''     (Often*.) 

11.  Malachi.     "  Behold,  I  send  my  messenger,"  etc. 

(angel  urn  meum). 

12.  Solomon.     "  \Vho   is  tliis  that  ascends  as  the 

morning  '.  " 

13.  David.     "Of  the  fruit  of  thy  body  will  I  set 

upon  thy  throne." 

35.  The  decorative  power  of  the  colour  in  these  figures, 
chiefly  blue,  purple,  and  white,  on  gold,  is  entirely  admi- 
rable,— more  especially  the  dark   purple  of  the  Virgin's 
robe,  with  lines  of  gold   for   its  folds  ;  and  the  figures  of 
David  and  Solomon,  both  in  Persian  tiaras,  almost  Arab, 
with   falling   lappets   to   the   shoulder,  for  shade;  David 
holding  a   book  with   Hebrew  letters  on  it  and  a  cross,  (a 
pretty  sign  for  the  Psalms  ;)  and  Solomon  with  rich  orbs 
of  lace  like  involved   ornament  on  his  dark  robe,  cnsped 
in  the  short  hem  of  it,  over  gold  underneath.     And  note 
in  all  these  mosaics  that  Byzantine  "  purple,'' — the  colour 
at  once  meaning  Kinghood  and  its  Sorrow, — is   the  same 
as  ours — -not  scarlet,  but  amethyst,  and  that  deep. 

36.  Then  in  the  spandrils  below,  come  the  figures  of 
the   forr  beasts,   with   this  inscription  round,  for  all  of 
them. 

"  QUAEQUE  SUB  OBSCURIS 
DE  CRISTO  DICTA  FIGURIS 

HlS  APERIRE   DATUR 

ET  IN  HIS,  DEUS  IPSE  NOTATUR." 

"Whatever  things  under  obscure  figures  have  been  said 
of  Christ,  it  is  given  to  ///<•.*•  "  (Vreatures)  •"  to  open  ;  and 
in  these,  Christ  himself  is  seen/' 


100  ST.  MAKE'S  BEST. 

A  grave  saying.  Not  in  the  least  true  of  'mere  Mat- 
thew, Mark,  Luke,  and  John.  Christ  was  never  seen  in 
them,  though  told  of  by  them.  But,  as  the  Word  by 
which  all  things  were  made,  He  is  seen  in  all  things  made, 
and  in  the  Poiesis  of  them  :  and  therefore,  when  the  vis- 
ion of  Ezekiel  is  repeated  to  St.  John,  changed  only  in 
that  the  four  creatures  are  to  him  more  distinct — each 
with  its  eingle  aspect,  and  not  each  fourfold, — they  are 
full  of  eyes  within,  and  rest  not  day  nor  night, — saying, 
Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  Lord  God  Almighty,  which  art,  and 
wast,  and  art  to  come." 

37.  We  repeat  the  words  habitually,  in  our  own  most 
solemn  religious  service ;  but  we  repeat  without  noticing 
out  of  whose  mouths  they  come. 

"  Therefore,"  (we  say,  in  much  self-satisfaction,)  "  with 
Angels  and  Archangels,  and  with  all  the  Company  of 
heaven,"  (meaning  each  of  us,  I  suppose,  the  select  Com- 
pany we  expect  to  get  into  there,)  "  we  laud  and  mag- 
nify," etc.  But  it  ought  to  make  a  difference  in  our  es- 
timate of  ourselves,  and  of  our  power  to  say,  with  our 
hearts,  that  God  is  Holy,  if  we  remember  that  we  join  in 
saying  so,  not,  for  the  present,  with  the  Angels, — but  with 
the  Beasts. 

38.  Yet  not  with  every  manner  of  Beast ;  for  after- 
wards, when  all  the  Creatures  in  Heaven  and  Earth,  and 
the  Sea,  join  in  thfc  giving  of  praise,  it  is  only  these  four 
who  can  say  "  Amen." 

The  Ox  that  treadeth  out  the  corn ;  and  the  Lion  that 
shall  eat  straw  like  the  Ox,  and  lie  down  with  the  lamb  ; 
and  the  Eagle  that  fluttereth  over  her  young ;  and  the 
human  creature  that  loves  its  mate,  and  its  children. 
In  these  four  is  all  the  power  and  all  the  charity  of 


VHI.    THE  REQUIEM.  101 

earthly  life  ;  and  in  such  power  and  charity  "  Deus  ipse 
notatur." 

39.  Notable,  in  that  manner,  lie  was,  at  least,  to   the 
men  wjio  built  this  shrine  where  once  was  St.  Theodore's  ; 
— not  betraying  nor  forgetting  their  first  master,  but  plac- 
ing his  statue,  with  St.  Mark's  Lion,  as  equal  powers  upon 
their  pillars  of  justice; — St.  Theodore,  as  you  have  before 
heard,  being  the   human  spirit  in  true  conquest  over  the 
inhuman,  because  in   true  sympathy  with  it — not  as   St. 
George  in  contest  with,  but  being  strengthened  and  ped- 
estalled  by,  the  "  Dragons  and  all  Deeps." 

40.  But  the   issue  of  all  these  lessons  we  cannot  yet 
measure  ;  it  is  only  now  that  we  are  beginning  to  be  able 
to  read  them,  in  the  myths  of  the  past,  and  natural  history 
of   the  present  world.     The  animal  gods  of  Egypt  and 
Assyria,  the  animal  cry  that  there  is  no  God,  of  the  pass- 
ing hour,  are.  both  of  them,  part  of  the  rudiments  of  the 
religion  yet  to  be  revealed,  in  the  rule  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
over  the  venomous  dust,  when  the  sucking  child  shall  play 
by  the  hole  of  the  asp,  and  the  weaned  child  lay  his  hand 
on  the  cockatrice  den. 

41.  And  no\v,  if  you  have  enough  seen,  and  understood, 
this  eastern  dome  and  its  lesson,  go  down  into  the  church 
under  the  central  one,  and  consider  the  story  of  that. 

Under  its  angles  are  the  four  Evangelists  themselves, 
drawn  as  men,  and  each  with  his  name.  And  over  tJteni 
the  inscription  is  widely  different.* 

*  I  give,  and  construe,  this  legend  as  now  written,  but  the  five  letters 
"  liter  "  are  recently  restored,  and  I  suspect  them  to  have  been  originally 
either  three  or  six.  "cer"or  '-disccr."  In  all  the  monkish  rhymes  I 
have  yet  read,  I  don't  remember  uny  so  awkward  a  division  as  this  ol 
nat  ura- liter. 


102  ST.  MARK'S  BEST. 

"  Sic  ACTUS  CHEISTI 
DESCRIBUNT  QUATUOR  ISTI 
QUOD  NEQUE  NATURA 
LITER  NENT,  NEC  UTRINQUE  FIGURA." 

"  Thus  do  these  four  describe  the  Acts  of  Christ.  And 
weave  his  story,  neither  by  natural  knowledge,  nor,  con- 
trariwise, by  any  figure." 

Compare  now  the  two  inscriptions.  In  the  living 
creatures,  Christ  himself  is  seen  by  nature  and  by  figure. 
But  these  four  tell  us  his  Acts,  "  Not  by  nature — not  by 
figure."  How  then  ? 

42.  You  have  had  various  "lives  of  Christ,"  German 
and   other,   lately  provided  among  your  other   severely 
historical  studies.     Some,  critical ;  and  some,  sentimental. 
But  there  is  only  one  light  by  which  you  can  read  the  life 
of  Christ, — the  light  of  the  life  you  now  lead  in  the  flesh; 
and  that  not  the  natural,  but  the  won  life.    "Nevertheless, 
I  live ;  yet  not  I,  but  Christ  liveth  in  me." 

Therefore,  round  the  vault,  as  the  pillars  of  it,  are  the 
Christian  virtues;  somewhat  more  in  number,  and  other 
in  nature,  than  the  swindling-born  and  business-bred 
virtues  which  most  Christians  nowadays  are  content  in 
acquiring.  But  these  old  Venetian  virtues  are  compliant 
also,  in  a  way.  They  are  for  sea-life,  and  there  is  one  for 
r\vry  wind  that  blows. 

43.  If  you  stand  in  mid-nave,  looking  to  the  altar,  the 
first  narrow  window  of  the  cupola — (I  call   it   first  for 
reasons  presently  given)  faces  you,  in  the  due  east.     Call 
the    one    next    it,    on    your   right,    the    second    window; 
it     bears    east-south-east.        The    third,   south-east;    the 
fourth,    south-south-east ;    the   fifth,   south ;    the  ninth, 


VIH.    THE  REQUIEM.  103 

west ;  the  thirteenth,  north  ;  and  the  sixteenth  east-north- 

The  Venetian  Virtues  stand,  one  between  each  window. 
On  the  sides  of  the  east  window  stand  Fortitude  and 
Temperance;  Temperance  the  tir>t.  Fortitude  the  last; 
'•  lie  that  endureth  to  the  end,  the  same  shall  be  saved." 

Then  their  order  is  as  follows:  Temperance  between 
the  first  and  second  windows, — (quenching  fire  with 
water) ; — between  the  second  and  third,  Prudence ;  and 
then,  in  sequence, 

in.  Humility. 

iv.  Kindness,  (Benignitas). 

v.  Compassion. 

vi.  Abstinence, 
vir.  Mercy, 
vni.  Long-suffering. 

ix.  Chastity. 
x.  Modesty. 

xi.  Constancy. 

xn.  Charity, 
xni.   Hope. 
xrv.  Faith. 

xv.  Justice, 
xvi.  Fortitude. 

44.  I  meant  to  have  read  all  their  legends,  but  "could 
do  it  any  time,"  and  of  course  never  did  ! — but  these 
following  are  the  most  important.  Charity  is  put  twelfth 
at  the  last  attained  of  the  virtues  belonging  to  human  life 
only:  but  she  is  called  the  "Mother  of  the  Virtues" — 
meaning,  of  them  all,  when  they  become  divine;  and 
chiefly  of  the  four  last,  which  relate  to  the  other  world. 


104  ST.  MASK'S  BEST. 

Then  Long-suffering,  (Patientia,)  has  for  her  legend, 
"  Blessed  are  the  Peacemakers  " ;  Chastity,  il  Blessed  are 
the  Pure  in  Heart  "  ;  Modesty,  "  Blessed  are  ye  when 
men  hate  you " ;  while  Constancy  (consistency)  has  the 
two  heads,  balanced,  one  in  each  hand,  which  are  given 
to  the  keystone  of  the  entrance  arch :  meaning,  I  believe, 
the  equal  balance  of  a  man's  being,  by  which  it  not  only 
stands,  but  stands  as  an  arch,  with  the  double  strength  of 
the  two  sides  of  his  intellect  and  soul.  "  Qui  sibi  constat" 
Then  note  that  "Modestia"  is  here  not  merely  shame- 
facedness,  though  it  includes  whatever  is  good  in  that; 
but  it  is  contentment  in  being  thought  little  of,  or  hated, 
when  one  thinks  one  ought  to  be  made  much  of — a  very 
difficult  virtue  to  acquire  indeed,  as  I  know  some  people 
who  know. 

45.  Then  the  order  of  the  circle  becomes  entirely  clear. 
All  strength  of  character  begins  in  temperance,  prudence, 
and  lowliness  of  thought.  Without  these,  nothing  is  pos- 
sible, of  noble  humanity :  on  these  follow — kindness, 
(simple,  as  opposed  to  malice,)  and  compassion,  (sympathy, 
a  much  rarer  quality  than  mere  kindness) ;  then,  self- 
restriction,  a  quite  different  and'  higher  condition  than 
temperance, — the  first  being  not  painful  when  rightly 
practised,  but  the  latter  always  so; — ("I  held  my  peace, 
even  from  good" — "quanto  quisque  sibi  plura  negaverit, 
ab  Dis  plura  feret").  Then  come  pity  and  long-suffering, 
which  have  to  deal  with  the  sin,  and  not  merely  with  the 
sorrow,  of  those  around  us.  Then  the  three  Trial  virtues, 
through  which  one  has  to  struggle  forward  up  to  the 
power  of  Love,  the  twelfth. 

All  these  relate  only  to  the  duties  and  relations  of  the 
life  that  is  now. 


VHL    THE  REQUIEM.  105 

But  Love  is  stronger  than  Death ;  and  through  her,  we 
have,  first,  Hope  of  life  to  come  ;  then,  surety  of  it ;  living 
by  this  surety,  (the  Just  shall  live  by  Faith,)  Righteous- 
ness, and  Strength  to  the  end.  Who  bears  on  her  scroll, 
"  The  Lord  shall  break  the  teeth  of  the  Lions." 

46.  An  undeveloped  and  simial  system  of  human  life — 
you  think  it — cockney  friend  ! 

Such  as  it  was,  the  Venetians  made  shift  to  brave  the 
war  of  this  world  with  it,  as  well  as  ever  you  are  like  to 
do  ;  and  they  had,  besides,  the  joy  of  looking  to  the  peace 
of  another.  For,  you  see,  above  these  narrow  windows, 
stand  the  Apostles,  and  the  two  angels  that  stood  by  them 
on  the  Mount  of  the  Ascension  ;  and  between  these  the 
Virgin;  and  with  her,  and  with  the  twelve,  you  are  to 
hear  the  angels'  word,  "  Why  stand  ye  at  gaze  ?  as  He 
departs,  so  shall  lie  come,  to  give  the  Laws  that  ought  to 
be." 

DEBITA  JUKA, 

a  form  of  "debit"  little  referred  to  in  modern  ledgers, 
but  by  the  Venetian  acknowledged  for  all  devoirs  of  com- 
merce and  of  war;  writing,  by  his  church,  of  the  Rialto's 
business,  (the  first  words,  these,  mind  you,  that  Venice 
ever  speaks  aloud,)  "  Around  this  Temple,  let  the  Mer- 
chant's law  be  just,  his  weights  true,  and  his  covenants 
faithful."  And  writing  thus,  in  lovelier  letters,  above  the 
place  of  St.  Mark's  Rest, — 

"Brave  be  the  living,  who  live  untq  the  Lonl ; 
For  Blessed  are  the  dead,  that  die  in  Him." 


NOTI?.— The  mosaics  described  in  this  number  of  St.  Mark's  Rest 
being  now  liable  at  any  moment  to  destruction — from  causes  already 
enough  specified,  T  have  undertaken,  at  the  instance  of  Mr.  Edward 
Burne  Jones,  and  with  promise  of  that  artist's  helpful  superintendence, 
at  once  to  obtain  some  permanent  record  of  them,  the  best  that  may 
be  at  present  possible  :  and  to  that  end  I  have  already  dispatched  to 
Venice  an  accomplished  young  draughtsman,  who  is  content  to  devote 
himself,  as  old  painters  did,  to  the  work  before  him  for  the  sake  of 
that,  and  his  own  honour,  at  journeyman's  wages.  The  three  of  us, 
Mr.  Burne  Jones,  and  he,  and  I,  are  alike  minded  to  set  our  hands  and 
souls  hard  at  this  thing  :  but  we  can't,  unless  the  public  will  a  little 
help  us.  I  have  given  away  already  all  I  have  to  spare,  and  can't  carry 
on  this  work  at  my  own  cost  ;  and  if  Mr.  Burne  Jones  gives  his  time 
and  care  gratis,  and  without  stint,  as  I  know  he  will,  it  is  all  he  should 
be  asked  for.  Therefore,  the  public  must  give  me  enough  to  maintain 
my  draughtsman  at  his  task  :  what  mode  of  publication  for  the  draw- 
ings may  be  then  possible,  is  for  after-consideration.  I  ask  for  sub- 
scriptions at  present  to  obtain  the  copies  only.  The  reader  is  requested 
to  refer  also  to  the  final  note  appended  to  the  new  edition  of  the 
'•  Stones  of  Venice,"  and  to  send  what  subscription  he  may  please  to 
iny  publisher,  Mr.  G.  Allen,  Sunnyside,  Orpington,  Kent. 

*  See  appendix  to  chapter  viii.,  page  187. 


FIRST  SUPPLEMENT. 
THE   SHRINE   OF   THE   SLAVES. 

BEIXG   A    GUIDE    TO    THE  PRINCIPAL   PICTURES    BT 

VICTOR   CARPACCTO 

IN  VENICE. 


PREFACE. 


THE  following  (too  imperfect)  account  of  the  pictures 
by  Carpaccio  in  the  chapel  of  San  Giorgio  de'  Schiavo.ni, 
is  properly  a  supplement  to  the  part  of  "  St.  Mark's  Rest " 
in  which  I  propose  to  examine  the  religious  mind  of 
Venice  in  the  fifteenth  century :  but  I  publish  these 
notes  prematurely  that  they  may  the  sooner  become  help- 
ful, according  to  their  power,  to  the  English  traveller. 

The  second  supplement,  which  is  already  in  the  press, 
will  contain  the  analysis  by  my  fellow-worker,  Mr.  James 
Reddie  Anderson,  of  the  mythological  purport  of  the  pic- 
tures here  described.  I  separate  Mr.  Anderson's  work 
thus  distinctly  from  my  own,  that  he  may  have  the  entire 
credit  of  it ;  but  the  reader  will  soon  perceive  that  it  is 
altogether  necessary,  both  for  the  completion  and  the 
proof  of  my  tentative  statements;  and  that  without  the 
certificate  of  his  scholarly  investigation,  it  would  have 
been  lost  time  to  prolong  the  account  of  my  own  conjec- 
tures or  impressions. 


/ 


THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES. 


COUNTING  the  canals  which,  entering  the  city  from  the 
open  lagoon,  must  be  crossed  as  you  walk  from  the  Piaz- 
zetta  towards  the  Public  Gardens,  the  fourth,  called  the 
%i  Rio  della  Pieta  "  from  the  unfinished  church  of  the 
Pieta,  facing  the  quay  before  you  reach  it,  will  presently, 
if  you  go  down  it  in  gondola,  and  pass  the  Campo  <li  S. 
Antonin,  permit  your  landing  at  some  steps  on  the  right, 
in  front  of  a  little  chapel  of  indescribable  architecture, 
chiefly  made  up  of  foolish  spiral  flourishes,  which  yet,  by 
their  careful  execution  and  shallow  mouldings,  are  seen  to 
belong  to  a  time  of  refined  temper.  Over  its  door  are  two 
bas-reliefs.  That  of  St.  Catherine  leaning  on  her  wheel 
seems  to  me  anterior  in  date  to  the  other,  and  is  vt-ry 
lovely  :  the  second  is  contemporary  with  the  cinque-cento 
building,  and  fine  also  ;  but  notable  chiefly  for  the  concep- 
tion of  the  dragon  as  a  creature  formidable  rather  hy  its 
gluttony  than  its  malice,  and  degraded  beneath  the  level 
of  all  other  spirits  of  prey  ;  its  wings  having  wasted  away 
into  mere  paddles  or  flappers,  having  in  them  no  faculty 
or  memory  of  flight;  its  throat  stretched  into  the  flaccidity 
of  a  sack,  its  tail  swollen  into  a  molluscous  encumbrance, 
like  an  enormous  worm ;  and  the  human  head  beneath  its 


THE    SHEINE   OF   THE   SLAVES. 

paw  symbolizing  therefore  the  subjection  of  the  human 
nature  to  the  most  brutal  desires. 

When  I  came  to  Venice  last  year,  it  was  with  resolute 
purpose  of  finding  out  everything  that  could  be  known  of 
the  circumstances  which  led  to  the  building,  and  deter- 
mined the  style,  of  this  chapel — or  more  strictly,  sacred 
hall,  of  the  School  of  the  Schiavoni.  But  day  after  day 
the  task  was  delayed  by  some  more  pressing  subject  of 
enquiry  ;  and,  at  this  moment — resolved  at  last  to  put 
what  notes  I  have  on  the  contents  of  it  at  once  together, 
—I  find  myself  reduced  to  copy,  without  any  additional 
illustration,  the  statement  of  Flaminio  Corner.* 

"  In  the  year  1451,  eome  charitable  men  of  the  Illyrian 
or  Sclavonic  nation,  many  of  whom  were  sailors,  moved 
by  praiseworthy  compassion,  in  that  they  saw  many  of 
their  fellow-countrymen,  though  deserving  well  of  the  re- 
public, perish  miserably,  either  of  hard  life  or  hunger,  nor 
have  enough  to  pay  the  expenses  of  church  burial,  deter- 
mined to  establish  a  charitable  brotherhood  under  the  in- 
vocation of  the  holy  martyrs  St.  George  and  St.  Trifon — 
brotherhood  whose  pledge  was  to  succour  poor  sailors,  and 
others  of  their  nation,  in  their  grave  need,  whether  by 
reason  of  sickness  or  old  age,  and  to  conduct  their  bodies, 
after  death,  religiously  to  burial.  Which  design  was  ap- 
proved by  the  Council  of  Ten,  in  a  decree  dated  19th 
May,  1451 ;  after  which,  they  obtained  from  the  pity  of  the 
Prior  of  the  Monastery  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  Lorenzo 
Marcello,  the  convenience  of  a  hospice  in  the  buildings  of 
the  Priory,  with  rooms  such  as  were  needful  for  their 
meetings ;  and  the  privilege  of  building  an  altar  in  the 

*  "Notizie  Storiche,"  Venice,  1758,  p.  167. 


THE   SHRINE  OP  THE   SLAVES.  113 

church,  under  the  title  of  St.  George  and  Trifon,  the  mar- 
tyrs ;  with  the  adjudgment  of  an  annual  rent  of  four  zee- 
chins,  two  loaves,  and  a  pound  of  wax,  to  be  offered  to  the 
Priory  on  the  feast  of  St.  George.  Such  were  the  begin- 
nings of  the  brotherhood,  called  that  of  St.  George  of  the 
Sclavonians. 

"  Towards  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century,  the  old 
hospice  being  ruinous,  the  fraternity  took  counsel  to  raise 
from  the  foundations  a  more  splendid  new  one,  under  the 
title  of  the  Martyr  St.  George,  which  was  brought  to  com- 
pletion, with  its  fagade  of  marble,  in  the  year  1501." 

The  hospice  granted  by  the  pity  of  the  Prior  of  St. 
John  cannot  have  been  very  magnificent,  if  this  little 
chapel  be  indeed  much  more  splendid  ;  nor  do  I  yet  know 
what  rank  the  school  of  the  Sclavonians  held,  in  power  or 
number,  among  the  other  minor  fraternities  of  Venice. 
The  relation  of  the  national  character  of  the  Dalmatians 
and  Illyrians,  not  only  to  Venice,  but  to  Europe,  I  find  to 
be  of  far  more  deep  and  curious  interest  than  is  commonly 
supposed  ;  and  in  the  case  of  the  Venetians,  traceable 
back  at  least  to  the  days  of  Herodotus ;  for  the  festival  of 
the  Brides  of  Venice,  and  its  interruption  by  the  Illyrian 
piratrs,  is  ->ne  of  the  curious  proofs  of  the  grounds  he  had 
for  naming  the  Venetians  as  one  of  the  tribes' of  the  Illy- 
rians. ;in<l  ascribing  to  them,  alone  among  European  races, 
the  same  practice  as  that  of  the  Babylonians  with  respect 
to  the  dowries  of  their  marriageable  girls. 

How  it  chanced  that  while  the  entire  Hiva, — the  chief 
quay  in  Venice — was  named  from  the  Sclavonians,  they 
were  yet  obliged  to  build  their  school  on  this  narrow 
canal,  and  prided  themselves  on  the  magnificence  of  so 
small  a  building,  I  have  not  ascertained,  nor  who  the 


THE  SHRINE  OP  THE  SLAVES. 

builder  was  ;  —  his  style,  differing  considerably  from  all 
the  Venetian  practice  of  the  same  date,  by  its  refusal  at 
once  of  purely  classic  forms,  and  of  elaborate  ornament, 
becoming  insipidly  grotesque,  and  chastely  barbarous,  in 
a  quite  unexampled  degree,  is  noticeable  enough,  if  we 
had  not  better  things  to  notice  within  the  unpretending 
doorwav.  Entering,  we  find  ourselves  in  a  little  room 
about  the  cize  of  the  commercial  parlour  in  an  old-fash- 
ioned English  inn  ;  perhaps  an  inch  or  two  higher  in  the 
ceiling,  which  is  of  good  horizontal  beams,  narrow  and 
many,  for  effect  of  richness  ;  painted  and  gilded,  also, 
now  tawdrily  enough,  but  always  in  some  such  patterns 
as  you  see.  At  the  end  of  the  low  room,  is  an  altar,  with. 
doors  on  the  right  and  left  of  it  in  the  sides  of  the  room, 
opening,  the  one  into  the  sacristy,  the  other  to  the  stairs 
leading  to  the  upper  chapel.  All  the  rest  mere  flat  wall, 
wainscoted  two-thirds  up,  eight  feet  or  ;$o,  leaving  a  third 
of  the  height,  say  four  feet,  claiming  some  kind  of  decent 
decoration.  Which  modest  demand  you  perceive  to  be 
modestly  supplied,  by  pictures,  fitting  that  measure  in 
height,  and  running  long  or  short,  as  suits  their  subjects  ; 
ten  altogether,  (or  with  the  altar-piece,  eleven,)  of  which 
nine  are  worth  your  looking  at. 


as  very  successfully  decorative  work,  I  admit.  A 
modern  Parisian  upholsterer,  or  clever  Kensington  student, 
would  have  done  for  you  a  far  surpassing  splendour  in  a 
few  hours:  all  that  we  can  say  here,  at  the  utmost,  is  that 
the  place  looks  comfortable;  and,  especially,  warm,  — 
the  pictures  having  the  effect,  you  will  feel  presently, 
of  a  soft  eveiiing  sunshine  on  the  walls,  or  glow  from 
embers  on  some  peaceful  hearth,  cast  up  into  the  room 
where  one  sits  waiting  for  dear  friends,  in  twilight. 


THE   SHBINE  OF  THE  SLAVES.  115 

In  a  little  while,  if  you  still  look  with  general  glance, 
yet  patiently,  this  warmth  will  resolve  itself  into  a  kind 
of  chequering,  as  of  an  Eastern  carpet,  or  old-fashioned 
English  sampler,  of  more  than  usually  broken  and  sudden 
variegation ;  nay,  suggestive  here  and  there  of  a  wayward 
patchwork,  verging  into  grotesqueness,  or  even,  with 
some  touch  of  fantasy  in  masque,  into  harlequinade, — 
like  a  tapestry  for  a  Christmas  night  in  a  home  a  thousand 
years  old,  to  adorn  a  carol  of  honoured  knights  with  hon- 
ouring queens. 

Thus  far  sentient  of  the  piece,  for  all  is  indeed  here 
but  one, — go  forward  a  little,  please,  to  the  second  picture 
on  the  left,  wherein,  central,  is  our  now  accustomed  friend, 
St.  George:  stiff  and  grotesque,  even  to  humorousness, 
you  will  most  likely  think  him,  with  his  dragon  in  a 
singularly  depressed  and,  as  it  were,  water-logged,  state. 
Never  mind  him,  or  the  dragon,  just  now  ;  but  take  a 
good  opera-glass,  and  look  therewith  steadily  and  long  at 
the  heads  of  the  two  princely  riders  on  the  left — the 
Saracen  king  and  his  daughter — lie  in  high  white  turban, 
she  beyond  him  in  the  crimson  cap,  high,  like  a  castle 
tower. 

Look  well  and  long.  For  truly, — and  with  hard-earned 
and  secure  knowledge  of  such  matters,  I  tell  you,  through 
all  this  round  world  of  ours,  searching  what  the  best  life 
of  it  has  done  of  brightest  in  all 'its  times  and  years, — you 
shall  not  find  another  piece  quite  the  like  of  that  little 
piece  of  work,  for  supreme,  serene,  unassuming,  unfalter- 
ing sweetness  of  painter's  perfect  art.  Over  every  other 
precious  thing,  of  such  things  known  to  me,  it  rises,  in 
the  compass  of  its  simplicity;  in  being  able  to  gather  the 
perfections  of  the  joy  of  extreme  childhood,  and  the  joy 


116          THE  SHKINE  OF  THE  SLAVES. 

of  a  hermit's  age,  with  the  strength  and  sunshine  of  mid- 
life,  all  in  one. 

Which  is  indeed  more  or  less  true  of  all  Carpaccio's 
work  and  mind  ;  but  in  this  piece  you  have  it  set  in  close 
jewellery,  radiant,  inestimable. 

Extreme  joy  of  childhood,  I  say.  No  little  lady  in  her 
first  red  shoes, — no  soldier's  baby  seeing  himself  in  the 
glass  beneath  his  father's  helmet,  is  happier  in  laugh 
than  Carpaccio,  as  he  heaps  and  heaps  his  Sultan's  snowy 
crest,  and  crowns  his  pretty  lady  with  her  ruby  tower. 
No  desert  hermit  is  more  temperate ;  no  ambassador  on 
perilous  policy  more  subtle  ;  no  preacher  of  first  Christian 
gospel  to  a  primitive  race  more  earnest  or  tender.  The 
wonderfullest  of  Venetian  Harlequins  this, — variegated, 
like  Geryon,  to  the  innermost  mind  of  him — to  the  lightest 
gleam  of  his  pencil :  "  Con  pivi  color,  sommesse  e  sopra- 
poste ;  non  fur  mai  drappi  Tartari  ne  Turchi ; "  and  all 
for  good. 

Of  course  you  will  not  believe  me  at  first, — nor  indeed, 
till  you  have  unwoven  many  a  fibre  of  his  silk  and  gold. 
I  had  no  idea  of  the  make  of  it  myself,  till  this  last 
year,  when  I  happily  had  beguiled  to  Venice  one  of  my 
best  young  Oxford  men.  eager  as  myself  to  understand 
this  historic  tapestry,  and  finer  fingered  than  I,  who  once 
getting  hold  of  the  fringes  of  it,  has  followed  them  thread 
by  thread  through  all  the  gleaming  damask,  'and  read  it 
clear;  whose  account  of  the  real  meaning  of  all  these 
pictures  you  shall  have  presently  in  full. 

But  first,  we  will  go  round  the  room  to  know  what  is 
here  to  read,  and  take  inventory  of  our  treasures  ;  and  I 
will  tell  you  only  the  little  I  made  out  myself,  which  is 
all  that,  without  more  hard  work  than  can  be  got  through 


THE  SHRINE   OF  THE   SLAVES.  117 

to-day,  you  are  likely  either  to  see  in  them,  or  believe  of 
them. 

First,  on  the  left,  then,  St.  George  and  the  Dragon — 
combatant  both,  to  the  best  of  their  powers;  perfect  eacli 
in  their  natures  of  dragon  and  knight.  Xo  dragon  that  I 
know  of,  pictured  among  mortal  worms ;  no  knight  1  know 
of,  pictured  in  immortal  chivalry,  so  perfect,  each  in  his 
kind,  as  these  two.  AVliat  else  is  visible  on  the  battle- 
ground, of  living  creature, — frog,  newt,  or  viper, — no  less 
•  admirable  in  their  kind.  The  small  black  viper,  central, 
I  have  painted  carefully  for  the  schools  of  Oxford  as  a 
Natural  History  study,  such  as  Oxford  schools  prefer. 
St.  George,  for  my  own  satisfaction,  also  as  well  as  I 
could,  in  the  year  1872 ;  and  hope  to  get  him  some  day 
better  done,  for  an  example  to  Sheffield  in  iron-armour, 
and  several  other  things. 

Picture  second,  the  one  I  first  took  you  to  see,  is  of  the 
Dragon  led  into  the  market-place  of  the  Sultan's  capital 
— submissive:  the  piece  of  St.  George's  spear,  which  has 
gone  through  the  back  of  his  head,  being  used  as  a  bridle : 
but  the  creature  indeed  now  little  needing  one,  being 
otherwise  subdued  enough ;  an  entirely  collapsed  and 
confounded  dragon,  all  his  bones  dissolved  away ;  prince 
and  people  gazing  as  he  returns  to  his  dust. 

Picture  third,  on  the  left  side  of  the  altar.* 

The  Sultan  and  his  daughter  are  baptized  by  St.  George. 

Triumphant  festival  of  baptism,  as  at  the  new  birthday 
of  two  kingly  spirits.  Trumpets  and  shawms  high  in  re- 
sounding transport ;  yet  something  of  comic  no  less  than 
rapturous  in  the  piece;  a  beautiful  scarlet — "parrot 

*  The  intermediate  oblong  on  the  lateral  wall  is  not  Carpaccio's,  and 
is  good  for  nothing. 


118  THE  SHRINE  OF  THE    SLAVES. 

« 

(must  we  call  him  ?)  conspicuously  mumbling  at  a  violet 
flower  under  the  steps ;  him  also — finding  him  the  scar- 
letest  and  mumblingest  parrot  I  had  ever  seen — I  tried  to 
paint  in  1872  for  the  Natural  History  Schools  of  Oxford — 
perhaps  a  new  species,  or  extinct  old  one,  to  immortalize 
Carpaccio's  name  and  mine.  When  all  the  imaginative  arts 
shall  be  known  no  more,  perhaps,  in  Darwinian  Museum, 
this  scarlet  "Epops  Carpaccii"  may  preserve  our  fame. 

But  the  quaintest  thing  of  all  is  St.  George's  own  atti- 
tude in  baptizing.  He  has  taken  a  good  platterful  of 
water  to  pour  on  the  Sultan's  head.  The  font  of  inlaid 
bronze  below  is  quite  flat,  and  the  splash  is  likely  to  be 
spreading.  St.  George — carefullest  of  saints,  it  seems,  in 
the  smallest  matt«rs — is  holding  his  mantle  back  well  out 
of  the  way.  I  suppose,  really  and  truly,  the  instinctive 
action  would  have  been  this,  pouring  at  the  same  time  so 
that  the  splash  might  be  towards  himself,  and  not  over 
the  Sultan. 

With  its  head  close  to  St.  George's  foot,  you  see  a 
sharp-eared  white  dog,  with  a  red  collar  round  his  7ieck. 
Not  a  greyhound,  by  any  means;  but  an  awkward  animal ; 
stupid-looking,  and  not  much  like  a  saint's  dog.  Nor  is  it 
in  the  least  interested  in  the  baptism,  which  a  saint's  dog 
would  certainly  have  been.  The  mumbling  parrot,  and 
he — what  can  they  have  to  do  with  the  proceedings?  A 
very  comic  picture ! 

But  this  next, — for  a  piece  of  sacred  ai%  what  can  we 
say  of  it  ? 

St.  Tryphonius  and  the  Basilisk — was  ever  so  simple  a 
saint,  ever  so  absurd  a  beast?  as  if  the  absurdity  of  all 
heraldic  beasts  that  ever  were,  had  been  hatched  into  one 
perfect  absurdity — prancing  there  on  the  steps  of  the 


THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES.  119 

throne,  self-satisfied  : — tltix  the  beast  whose  glance  is 
mortal !  And  little  St.  Tryphonius,  with  nothing  remark- 
able about  him  more  than  is  in  every  good  little  boy,  for 
all  I  can  see. 

And  the  worst  of  it  is  that  I  don't  happen  to  know 
anything  about  St.  Tryphonius,  whom  I  mix  up  a  little 
with  Trophonius,  and  his  cave  ;  also  I  am  not  very 
clear  about  the  difference  between  basilisks  and  cocka- 
trices ;  and  on  the  whole  find  myself  reduced,  in  this 
picture,  to  admiring  the  carpets  with  the  crosses  on  them 
hunjj  out  of  the  window,  which,  if  von  will  examine  with 

O  /  •/ 

opera-glass,  you  will  be  convinced,  I  think,  that  nobody 
can  do  the  like  of  them  by  rules,  at  Kensington  ;  and  that 
if  you  really  care  to  have  carpets  as  good  as  they  can  be, 
you  must  get  somebody  to  design  them  who  can  draw 
saints  and  basilisks  too. 

Note,  also,  the  group  under  the  loggia  which  the  stair- 
case leads  up  to,  high  on  the  left.  It  is  a  picture  in  itself; 
far  more  lovely  as  a  composition  than  the  finest  Titian  or 
Veronese,  simple  and  pleasant  this  as  the  summer  air,  and 
lucent  as  morning  cloud. 

On  I  lie  other  side  also  there  are  wonderful  things,  only 
there's  a  black  figure  there  that  frightens  me  :  I  can't 
make  it  out  at  all  ;  and  would  rather  go  on  to  the  next 
picture,  please. 

Stay — [  forgot  the  arabesque  on  the  steps,  with  the 
living  plants  taking  part  in  the  ornament,  like  voices 
chanting  here  and  there  a  note,  as  some  pretty  tune  follows 
its  melodious  way,  on  constant  instruments.  Mature  and 
art  at  play  with  each  other — graceful  and  gay  alike,  yet 
all  the  while  conscious  that  they  are  at  play  round  the 
steps  of  a  throne,  and  under  the  paws  of  a  basilisk. 


120  THE   SHRINE    OF   THE   SLAVES. 

The  fifth  picture  is  in  the  darkest  recess  of  all  the  room  ; 
and  of  darkest  theme, — the  Agony  in  the  garden.  I  have 
never  seen  it  rightly,  nor  need  you  pause  at  it,  unless  to 
note  the  extreme  naturalness  of  the  action  in  the  sleeping 
figures — their  dresses  drawn  tight  under  them  as  they 
have  turned,  restlessly.  But  the  principal  figure  is  hope- 
lessly invisible. 

The  sixth  picture  is  of  the  calling  of  Matthew ;  visible, 
this,  in  a  bright  day,  and  worth  waiting  for  one,  to  see  it 
in,  through  any  stress  of  weather. 

For,  indeed,  the  Gospel  which  the  publican  wrote  for 
us,  with  its  perfect  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  and  mostly 
more  harmonious  and  gentle  fulness,  in  places  where  St. 
Luke  is  formal,  St.  John  mysterious,  and  St.  Mark  brief, — 
this  Gospel,  according  to  St.  Matthew,  I  should  think,  if 
we  had  to  choose  one  out  of  all  the  books  in  the  Bible  for 
a  prison  or  desert  friend,  would  be  the  one  we  should 
keep. 

And  we  do  not  enough  think  how  much  that  leaving 
the  receipt  of  custom  meant,  as  a  sign  of  the  man's  nature, 
who  was  to  leave  us  such  a  notable  piece  of  literature. 

Yet  observe,  Carpaccio  does  not  mean  to  express  the 
fact,  or  anything  like  the  fact,  of  the  literal  calling  of 
Matthew.  What  the  actual  character  of  the  publicans  of 
Jerusalem  was  at  that  time,  in  its  general  aspect,  its  ad- 
mitted degradation,  and  yet  power  of  believing,  with  the 
harlot,  what  the  masters  and  the  mothers  in  Israel  could 
not  believe,  it  is  not  his  purpose  to  teach  you.  Tliis  call 
from  receipt  of  custom,  he  takes  for  the  symbol  of  the 
universal  call  to  leave  all  that  we  have,  and  are  doing. 
"  Whosoever  forsaketh  not  all  that  he  hath,  cannot  be  my 
disciple."  For  the  other  calls  were  easily  obeyed  in  com- 


THE  SHRINE  OP  THE  SLAVES.  121 

parison  of  tins.  To  leave  one?s  often  empty  nets  and 
nightly  toil  on  sea,  and  become  fishers  of  men,  probably 
you  might  find  pescatori  enough  on  the  Riva  there,  within 
a  hundred  paces  of  you,  who  would  take  the  chance  at 
once,  if  any  gentle  person  offered  it  them.  James  and 
Judo — Christ's  cousins — no  thanks  to  them  for  following 
Him  ;  their  own  home  conceivably  no  richer  than  His. 
Thomas  and  Philip,  I  suppose,  somewhat  thoughtful  per- 
sons on  spiritual  matters,  questioning  of  them. long  since; 
going  out  to  hear  St.  John  preach,  and  to  see  whom  he 
had  seen.  But  this  man,  busy  in  the  place  of  business — 
engaged  in  the  interests  of  foreign  governments — thinking 
no  more  of  an  Israelite  Messiah  than  Mr.  Goschen,  but 
only  of  Egyptian  finance,  and  the  like — suddenly  the 
Messiah,  passing  by,  says  "Follow  me  !  "  and  he  rises  up, 
gives  Him  his  hand,  "Yea!  to  the  death;"  and  absconds 
from  his  desk  in  that  electric  manner  on  the  instant, 
leaving  his  cash-box  unlocked,  and  his  books  for  whoso 
list  to  balance  ! — a  very  remarkable  kind  of  person  indeed, 
it  seems  to  me. 

Carpaccio  takes  him,  as  I  said,  for  a  type  of  such  sacri- 
fice at  its  best.  Everything  (observe  in  passing)  is  here 
given  you  of  the  best.  Dragon  deadliest — knight  purest 
— parrot  scarletest — basilisk  absurdest — publican  publi- 
cancst ; — a  perfect  type  of  the  life  spent  in  taxing  one's 
neighbour,  exacting  duties,  per-centages,  profits  in  general, 
in  a  due  and  virtuous  manner. 

For  do  not  think  Christ  would  have  called  a  bad  or 
corrupt  publican — much  less  that  a  bad  or  corrupt  publi- 
can would  have  obi-yed  the  call.  Your  modern  English 
evangelical  doctrine  that  Christ  has  a  special  liking  for 
the  souls  of  rascals  is  the  tibsurdest  basilisk  of  a  doctrine 
6 


122  THE   SHRINE   OF  THE  SLAVES. 

that  ever  pranced  on  judgment  steps.  That  which  is  lost 
He  comes  to  save, — yes  ;  but  not  that  which  is  defiantly 
going  the  Way  He  has  forbidden.  He  showed  you  plainly 
enough  what  kind  of  publican  He  would  call,  having 
chosen  two,  both  of  the  best :  "  Behold,  Lord,  if  I  have 
taken  anything  from  any  man,  I  restore  it  fourfold!" — a 
beautiful  manner  of  trade.  Carpaccio  knows  well  that 
there  were  no  defalcations  from  Levi's  chest — no  oppres- 
sions in  his  tax-gathering.  This  whom  he  has  painted  is 
a  true  merchant  of  Venice,  uprightest  and  gentlest  of  the 
merchant  race ;  yet  with  a  glorious  pride  in  him.  What 
merchant  but  one  of  Venice  would  have  ventured  to  take 
Christ's  hand,  as  his  friend's — as  one  man  takes  an- 
other's ?  Not  repentant,  he,  of  anything  he  has  done ; 
not  crushed  or  terrified  by  Christ's  call ;  but  rejoicing  in 
it,  as  meaning  Christ's  praise  and  love.  "  Come  up  higher 
then,  for  there  are  nobler  treasures  than  these  to  count, 
and  a  nobler  King  than  this  to  render  account  to.  Thou 
hast  been  faithful  over  a  few  things  ;  enter  thou  into  the 
joy  of  thy  Lord." 

A  lovely  picture,  in  every  sense  and  power  of  painting ; 
natural,  and  graceful,  and  quiet,  and  pathetic; — divinely 
religious,  yet  as  decorative  and  dainty  as  a  bank  of  violets 
in  spring. 

But  the  next  picture!  How  was  ever  such  a  thing 
allowed  to  be  put  in  a  church  ?  Nothing  surely  could  be 
more  perfect  in  comic  art.  St.  Jerome,  forsooth,  intro- 
ducing his  novice  lion  to  monastic  life,  with  the  resulting 
effect  on  the  vulgar  monastic  mind. 

Do  not  imagine  for  an  instant  that  Carpaccio  does  not 
see  the  jest  in  all  this,  as  well  as  you  do, — perhaps  even  a 
little  better.  "Ask  for  him  to-morrow,  indeed,  and  you 


THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES.  123 

shall  find  him  a  grave  man ; "  but,  to-day,  Mercutio  him- 
self is  not  more  fanciful,  nor  Shakespeare  himself  more 
gay  in  his  fancy  of  "  the  gentle  beast  and  of  a^good  con- 
science,'' than  here  the  painter  as  he  drew  his  delicately 
smiling  lion  with  his  head  on  one  side  like  a  Perugino's 
saint,  and  his  left  paw  raised,  partly  to  show  the  thorn 
wound,  partly  in  deprecation, — 

"  For  if  I  should,  as  lion,  come  in  strife 
Into  this  place,  'twere  pity  of  ray  life. 

The  flying  monks  are  scarcely  at  first  intelligible  but  as 
white  and  blue  oblique  masses;  and  there  was  much 
debate  between  Mr.  Murray  and  me,  as  he  sketched  the 
picture  for  the  Sheffield  Museum,  whether  the  actions  of 
flight  were  indeed  well  given  or  not ;  he  maintaining  that 
the  monks  were  really  running  like  Olympic  archers,  and 
that  the  fine  drawing  was  only  lost  under  the  quartering 
of  the  dresses ; — I  on  the  contrary  believe  that  Carpaccio 
had  failed,  having  no  gift  for  representing  swift  motion. 
We  are  probably  both  right;  I  doubt  not  that  the  running 
action,  if  Mr.  Murray  says  so,  is  rightly  drawn  ;  but  at 
tliis  time,  every  Venetian  painter  had  been  trained  to 
represent  only  slow  and  dignified  motion,  and  not  till 
fifty  years  later,  under  classic  influence,  came  the  floating 
and  rushing  force  of  Veronese  and  Tintoret. 

And  I  am  confirmed  in  this  impression  by  the  figure  of 
the  stag  in  the  distance,  which  does  not  run  freely,  and 
by  the  imperfect  gallop  of  St.  George's  horse  in  the  first 
subject. 

But  there  are  many  deeper  questions  respecting  this 
St.  Jerome  subject  than  those  of  artistic  skill.  The  picture 
is  a  jest  indeed ;  but  is  it  a  jest  only  ?  Is  the  tradition 


124  THE  SHBINE   OF  THE  SLAVES. 

itself  a  jest  ?  or  only  by  our  own  fault,  and  perhaps  Car- 
paccio's,  do  we  make  it  so  ? 

In  the  first  place,  then,  you  will  please  to  remember,  as 
I  have  often  told  you,  Carpaccio  is  not  answerable  for 
himself  in  this  matter.  lie  begins  to  think  of  his  subject, 
intending,  doubtless,  to  execute  it  quite  seriously.  But 
his  mind  no  sooner  fastens  on  it  than  the  vision  of  it 
comes  to  him  as  a  jest,  and  he  is  forced  to  paint  it. 
Forced  by  the  fates, — dealing  with  the  fate  of  Yenice  and 
Christendom.  We  must  ask  of  Atropos,  not  of  Carpaccio, 
why  this  picture  makes  us  laugh  ;  and  why  the  tradition 
it  records  has  become  to  us  a  dream  and  a  scorn.  No  day 
of  my  life  passes  now  to  its  sunset,  without  leaving  me 
more  doubtful  of  all  our  cherished  contempts,  and  more 
earnest  to  discover  what  root  there  was  for  the  stories  of 
good  men,  which  are  now  the  mocker's  treasure. 

And  I  want  to  read  a  good  "  Life  of  St.  Jerome."  And 
if  I  go  to  Mr.  Ongaria's  I  shall  find,  I  suppose,  the  auto- 
biography of  George  Sand,  and  the  life  of — Mr.  Sterling, 
perhaps ;  and  Mr.  Werner,  written  by  my  own  master, 
and  which  indeed  I've  read,  but  forget  now  who  either 
Mr.  Sterling  or  Mr.  Werner  were ;  and  perhaps,  in  relig- 
ious literature,  the  life  of  Mr.  Wilberforce  and  of  Mrs. 
Fry  ;  but  not  the  smallest  scrap  of  information  about  St. 
Jerome.  To  whom,  nevertheless,  all  the  charity  of  George 
Sand,  and  all  the  ingenuity  of  Mr.  Sterling,  and  all  the 
benevolence  of  Mr.  Wilberforce,  and  a  great  quantity,  if 
we  knew  it,  of  the  daily  comfort  and  peace  of  our  own 
little  lives  every  day,  are  verily  owing ;  as  to  a  lovely  old 
pair  of  spiritual  spectacles,  without  whom  we  never  had 
re^i  a  word  of  the  "  Protestant  Bible."  It  is  of  no  use, 
however,  to  begin  a  life  of  St.  Jerome  now — and  of  little 


THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES.  125 

use  to  look  at  these  pictures  without  a  life  of  St.  Jerome ; 
but  only  thus  much  you  should  be  clear  in  knowing  about 
him,  as  not  in  the  least  doubtful  or  mythical,  but  wholly 
true,  and  the  beginning  of  facts  quite  limitlessly  important 
to  all  modern  Europe — namely,  that  he  was  born  of  good, 
i-r  at  least  rich  family,  in  Dalmatia,  virtually  midway  be- 
tween the  east  and  the  west ;  that  he  made  the  great 
Eastern  book,  the  Bible,  legible  in  the  west ;  that  lie  was 
the  first  great  teacher  of  the  nobleness  of  ascetic  scholar- 
ship and  courtesy,  as  opposed  to  ascetic  savageness  : — the. 
founder,  properly,  of  the  ordered  cell  and  tended  garden, 
where  before  was  but  the  desert  and  the  wild  wood;  and 
that  he  died  in  the  monastery  he  had  founded  at  Bethle- 
hem. 

It  is  this  union  of  gentleness  and  refinement  with  noble 
continence, — this  love  and  imagination  illuminating  the 
mountain  cave  into  a  frescoed  cloister,  and  winning  its 
savage  beasts  into  domestic  friends,  which  Carpaccio  has 
been  ordered  to  paint  for  you ;  which,  with  ceaseless 
exijiiisiteness  of  fancy,  he  fills  these  three  canvases  with 
the  incidents  of, — meaning,  as  I  believe,  the  story  of  all 
monastic  life,  and  death,  and  spiritual  life  for  evermore : 
the  power  of  this  great  and  wise  and  kind  spirit,  ruling  in 
the  perpetual  future  over  all  household  scholarship  ;  and 
the  help  rendered  by  the  companion  souls  of  the  lower 
creatures  to  the  highest  intellect  and  virtue  of  man. 

o 

And  if  with  the  last  picture  of  St.  Jerome  in  his  study, 
— his  happy  white  dog  watching  his  face — you  will  men- 
tally compare  a  hunting  piece  by  Rubens,  or  Snyders, 
with  the  torn  dogs  rolled  along  the  ground  in  their  blood, 
— you  may  perhaps  begin  to  feel  that  there  is  something 
more  serious  in  this  kaleidoscope  of  St.  George's  Chapel 


126  THE  SHKINE  OF  THE  SLAVES. 

than  you  at  first  believed — which  if  you  now  care  to  fol- 
low out  with  me,  let  us  think  over  this  ludicrous  subject 
more  quietly. 

What  account  have  we  here  given,  voluntarily  or  invol- 
untarily, of  monastic  life,  by  a  man  of  the  keenest  per- 
ception, living  in  the  midst  of  it?  That  all  the  monks 
who  have  caught  sight  of  the  lion  should  be  terrified  out 
of  their  wits — what  a  curious  witness  to  the  timidity  of 
Monasticism !  Here  are  people  professing  to  prefer 
Heaven  to  earth — preparing  themselves  for  the  change  as 
the  reward  of  all  their  present  self-denial.  And  this  is 
the  way  they  receive  the  first  chance  of  it  that  offers! 

Evidently  Carpaccio's  impression  of  monks  must  be,  not 
that  they  were  more  brave  or  good  than  other  men  ;  but 
that  they  liked  books,  and  gardens,  and  peace,  and  were 
afraid  of  death — therefore,  retiring  from  the  warrior's 
danger  of  chivalry  somewhat  selfishly  and  meanly.  He 
clearly  takes  the  knight's  view  of  them.  What  he  may 
afterwards  tell  us  of  good  concerning  them,  will  not  be 
from  a  witness  prejudiced  in  their  favour.  Some  good 
he  tells  us,  however,  even  here.  The  pleasant  order  in 
wildness  of  the  trees;  the  buildings  for  agricultural  and 
religious  use.  set  down  as  if  in  an  American  clearing,  here 
and  there,  as  the  ground  was  got  ready  for  them  ;  the 
perfect  grace  of  cheerful,  pure,  illuminating  art,  filling 
every  little  cornice-cusp  of  the  chapel  with  its  jewel-pic- 
ture of  a  saint,* — last,  and  chiefly,  the  perfect  kindness  to 
and  fondness  for,  all  sorts  of  animals.  Cannot  you  better 
conceive,  as  you  gaze  upon  the  happy  scene,  what  manner 
of  men  they  were  who  first  secured  from  noise  of  war  the 

*See  the  piece  of  distant  monastery  in  the  lion  picture,  with  its  frag, 
ments  of  fresco  on  wall,  its  ivy-covered  door,  and  illuminated  cornice. 


THE   SHRINE  OP  THE  SLAVES.  127 

sweet  nooks  of  meadow  beside  your  own  mountain  streams 
at  Bolton,  and  Fountains,  Furness  and  Tintern  ?  But  of 
the  saint  himself  Carpaccio  has  all  good  to  tell  you.  Com- 
mon monks  were,  at  least,  harmless  creatures;  but  here  is 
a  strong  and  beneficent  one.  "  Calm,  before  the  Lion  !  " 
say  C.  C.  with  their  usua)  perspicacity,  as  if  the  story 
were  that  the  saint  alone  had  courage  to  confront  the  rag- 
ing beast — a  Daniel  in  the  lions'  den  !  They  might  as 
well  say  of  Carpaccio' s  Venetian  beauty  that  she  is  "  calm 
before  the  lapdog."  The  saint  is  leading  in  his  new  pet, 
as  he  would  a  lamb,  and  vainly  expostulating  with  his 
brethren  for  being  ridiculous.  The  grass  on  which  they 
have  dropped  their  books  is  beset  with  flowers;  there  is 
no  sign  of  trouble  or  asceticism  on  the  old  man's  face,  he 
is  evidently  altogether  happy,  his  life  being  complete,  and 
the  entire  scene  one  of  the  ideal  simplicity  and  security  of 
heavenly  wisdom  :  "  Her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness, 
and  all  her  paths  are  peace/' 

And  now  pass  to  the  second  picture.  At  first  you  will 
perhaps  see  principally  its  weak  monks — looking  more 
foolish  in  their  sorrow  than  ever  they  did  in  their  fear. 
Portraits  these,  evidently,  every  soul  of  them — chiefly  the 
one  in  spectacles,  reading  the  funeral  service  so  perfunc- 
torily,— types,  throughout,  of  the  supreme  commonplace  ; 
alike  in  action  and  expression,  except  those  quiet  ones  in 
purple  on  the  right,  and  the  grand  old  man  on  crutches, 
come  to  see  this  sight. 

But  St.  Jerome  himself  in  the  midst  of  them,  the  eager 
heart  of  him  quiet,  to  such  uttermost  quietness, — the  body 
lying — look — absolutely  flat  like  clay,  as  if  it  had  been 
beat  down,  and  clung,  clogged,  all  along  to  the  marble. 
Earth  to  earth  indeed.  Level  clay  and  inlaid  rock  now 


118  THE   SHRINE   OF  THE  SLAVES. 

all  one — and  the  noble  head  senseless  as  a  stone,  with  a 
stone  for  its  pillow. 

There  they  gather  and  kneel  about  it — wondering,  I 
think,  more  than  pitying.  To  see  what  was  yesterday  the 
great  Lite  in  the  midst  of  them,  laid  thus  !  But,  so  far  as 
they  do  not  wonder,  they  pity  only,  and  grieve.  There 
is  no  looking  for  his  soul  in  the  clouds, — no  worship 
of  relics  here,  implied  even  in  the  kneeling  figures. 
All  look  down,  woefully,  wistfully,  as  into  a  grave. 
"  And  so  Death  passed  upon  all  men,  for  that  all  have 
sinned/' 

This  is  Carpaccio's  message  to  us.  -And  lest  you  should 
not  read  it,  and  carelessly  think  that  he  meant  only  the 
usual  commonplace  of  the  sacredness  and  blessedness  of 
the  deatli  of  the  righteous, — look  into  the  narrow  shadow 
in  the  corner  of  the  house  at  the  left  hand  side,  where,  on 
the  strange  forked  and  leafless  tree  that  occupies  it,  are 
set  the  cross  and  little  vessel  of  holy  water  beneath,  and 
aoove,  the  skull,  which  are  always  the  signs  of  St. 
Jerome's  place  of  prayer  in  the  desert. 

The  lower  jaw  has  fallen  from  the  skull  into  the  vessel 
of  holy  water. 

It  is  but  a  little  sign, — but  you  will  soon  know  how 
much  this  painter  indicates  by  such  things,  and  that  here 
he  means  indeed  that  for  the  greatest,  as  the  meanest,  of 
the  sons  of  Adam,  death  is  still  the  sign  of  their  sin  ;  and 
that  though  in  Christ  all  shall  be  made  alive,  yet  also  in 
Adam  all  die ;  and  this  return  to  their  earth  is  not  in  it- 
self the  coming  of  peace,  but  the  infliction  of  shame. 

At  the  lower  edge  of  the  marble  pavement  is  one  of 
Carpaccio's  lovely  signatures,  on  a  white  scroll,  held  in  its 
mouth  by  a  tiny  lizard. 


THE  SHEINE   OF  THE   SLAVES.   .  129 

And  now  you  will  be  able  to  enter  into  the  joy  of  the 
last  picture,  the  life  of  St.  Jerome  in  Heaven. 

I  had  no  thought,  myself,  of  this  being  the  meaning  of 
such  closing  ecenu ;  but  the  evidence  for  this  reading  of 
it,  laid  before  me  by  my  fellow-worker,  Mr.  Anderson, 
seems  to  me,  in  the  concurrence  of  its  many  clauses,  irre- 
sistible; and  this  at  least  is  certain,  that  as  the  opposite 
St.  George  represents  the  perfect  Mastery  of  the  body,  in 
contest  with  the  lusts  of  the  Flesh,  this  of  St.  Jerome  rep- 
resents the  perfect  Mastery  of  the  mind,  in  the  fulfil- 
ment of  the  right  desires  of  the  Spirit :  and  all  the  arts  of 
man, — music  (a  long  passage  of  melody  written  clear  on 
one  of  the  fallen  scrolls),  painting  (in  the  illuminated 
missal  and  golden  alcove),  and  sculpture  (in  all  the  forms 
of  furniture  and  the  bronze  work  of  scattered  ornaments), 
— these— and  the  glad  fidelity  of  the  lower  animals, — all 
subjected  in  pleasant  service  to  the  more  and  more  perfect 
reading  and  teaching  of  the  "Word  of  God  ; — read,  not  in 
written  pages  chiefly,  but  with  uplifted  eyes  by  the  light 
of  Heaven  itself,  entering  and  filling  the  mansions  of  Im- 
mortality. 

This  interpretation  of  the  picture  is  made  s-till  more 
probable,  by  the  infinite  pains  which  Carpaccio  has  given 
to  the  working  of  it.  It  is  quite  impossible  to  find  more 
beautiful  and  right  painting  of  detail,  or  more  truthful 
tones  of  atmosphere  and  shadow  affecting  interior  col- 
ours. 

Here  then  are  the  principal  heads  of  the  symbolic  evi- 
dence, abstracted  for  us  by  Mr.  Anderson  from  his  com- 
plete account  of  the  whole  series,  now  in  preparation. 

1.  "  The  position  of  the  picture  seems  to  show  that  it 
6* 


130  THE  SHRINE   OF  THE    SLAVES. 

sums  up  the  whole  matter.  The  St.  George  series  reads 
from  left  to  right.  So,  chronologically,  the  two  others  of 
St.  Jerome;  but  this, which  should  according  to  the  story 
have  been  first,  appears  after  the  death. 

2.  "The  figure  on  the  altar  is — most  unusually — our 
Lord  with  the  Resurrection -banner.     The  shadow  of  this 
figure  falls  on  the  wall  so  as  to  make  a  crest  for  the  mitre 

o 

on  the  altar; — '  Helmet  of  Salvation.'  ....  The  mitre 
(by  comparison  with  St.  Ursula's  arrival  in  Rome  it  is  a 
cardinal's  mitre),  censer,  and  crosier,  are  laid  aside. 

3.  "  The  Communion  and   Baptismal  vessels  are  also 
laid  aside  under  this  altar,  not  of  the  dead   but  of  the 
Risen  Lord.     The  curtain  falling  from  the  altar  is  drawn 
aside  that  we  may  notice  this. 

4:.  "  In  the  mosaic-covered  recess  above  the  altar  there 
is  prominently  inlaid  the  figure  of  a  cherub  or  seraph 
'  che  in  Dio  piu  1'occhio  ha  fisso.' 

5.  "Comparing  the  colours  of  the  winged  and  four- 
footed  parts  of  the  '  animal  binato  '  in  the  Purgatory,  it  is 
I  believe  important  to  notice  that  the  statue  of  our  Lord 
is  gold,  the  dress  of  St.  Jerome  red  and  white,  and  over 
the  shoulders  a  cape  of  the  brown  colour  of  earth. 

6.  "  While  caudles  blaze  round  the  dead  Jerome  in  the 
previous  picture,  the  candlesticks  on  the  altar  here  are 
empty — 'they  need  no  candle.' 

7.  "  The  two  round-topped  windows  in  line  behind  the 
square  one  through  which  St.  Jerome  gazes,  are  the  an- 
cient tables  bearing  the  message  of  light,  delivered  '  of 
angels  '  to  the  faithful,  but  now  put  behind,  and  compar- 
atively dim  beside  the  glory  of  present  and  personal  vis- 
ion.    Yet  the  light  which  comes  even  through  the  square 
window  streams  through  bars  like  those  of  a  prison. 


THE   SHRINE  OP   THE   SLAVES.  131 

"  '  Through  the  body's  prison  bars 
His  soul  possessed  the  sun  and  stars,' 

Dante  Rossetti  writes  of  Dante  Allighieri ;  but  Carpaccio 
hangs  the  wheels  of  all  visible  heaven  imide  these  bars. 
Sr.  Jerome's  'possessions'  are  in  a  farther  country. 
These  bars  are  another  way  of  putting  what  is  signified 
by  the  brown  cape. 

8.  "  The  two  great  volumes  leaning  against  the  wall  by 
the  arm-chair  are  the  same  thing,  the  closed  testaments. 

9.  "  The  documents  hanging  in  the  little  chamber  be- 
hind and  lying  at  the  saint's  feet,  remarkable  for  their 
hanging  seals,  are  shown  by  these  seals  to  be  titles  to  some 
property,  or  testaments;  but  they  are  now  put  aside  or 
thrown  underfoot.     Why,  except  that  possession  is  gotten, 
that  Christ  is  risen,  and  that  '  a  testament  is  of  no  strength 
at  all  while   the  testator  livetli '  ?     This   I  believe  is  no 
misuse  of  Paul's  words,  but  an  employment  of  them  in 
their  mystic  sense,  just  as   the  New  Testament  writers 
quoted  the  Old  Testament.     There  is  a  very  prominent 
illuminated  II  on  one  of  the  documents  under  the  table  (I 
think  you  have  written  of  it  as  Greek  in  its  lines) :  I  can- 
not  but  fancy   it  is  the  initial    letter   of   '  Resurrectio.' 
What   the   music   is,  Caird  has   sent   me   no  information 
about ;  he  was  to  enquire  of  some  friend  who  knew  about 
old  church  music.     The  prominent  bell  and  shell  on  the 
table  puzzle  me,  but  I  am  sure  mean  something.     Is  the 
former  the  mass-bell  ? 

10.  "  The   statuettes  of  Venus  and  the  horse,  and  the 
various  antique   fragments  on  the  shelf   behind  the  arm- 
chair  are,    I    think,  symbols  of    the  world,  of  the  flesh, 
placed   behind  even  the  old  Scripture  studies.     You  re- 


132  THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES. 

member  Jerome's  early  learning,  and  the  vision  that 
awakened  him  from  Pagan  thoughts  (to  read  the  laws  of 
the  True  City)  with  the  words,  '  Ubi  est  thesaurus  tuus.' 

"  I  have  put  these  things  down  without  trying  to  dress 
them  into  an  argument,  that  you  may  judge  them  as  one 
would  gather  them  hap-hazard  from  the  picture.  Individu- 
ally several  of  them  might  be  weak  arguments,  but  together 
I  do  think  they  are  conclusive.  The  key-note  is  struck  by 
the  empty  altar  bearing  the  risen  Lord.  I  do  not  think 
Carpaccio  thought  of  immortality  in  the  symbols  derived 
from  mortal  life,  through  which  the  ordinary  mind  feels 
after  it.  Nor  surely  did  Dante  (V.  esp.  Par.  IY.  27  and 
following  lines).  And  think  of  the  words  in  Canto  II : — 

"  '  Dentro  dal  ciel  della  Divina  Pace 
Si  gira  un  corpo  nella  cui  virtute 
L'esser  di  tutto  suo  contento  giace.' 

But  there  is  no  use  heaping  up  passages,  as  the  sense  that 
in  using  human  language  he  merely  uses  mystic  metaphor 
is  continually  present  in  Dante,  and  often  explicitly  stated. 
And  it  is  surely  the  error  of  regarding  these  picture 
writings  for  children  who  live  in  the  nursery  of  Time  and 
Space,  as  if  they  were  the  truth  itself,  which  can  be  dis- 
covered only  spiritually,  that  leads  to  the  inconsistencies 
of  thought  and  foolish  talk  of  even  good  men. 

"  St.  Jerome,  in  this  picture,  is  young  and  brown-haired, 
not  bent  and'with  long  white  beard,  as  in  the  two  others. 
I  connect  this  with  the  few  who  have  stretched  their 
necks 

"  '  Per  tempo  al  pan  degli  angeli  del  quale 
Vivesi  qui  ma  non  si  vien  satollo.' 

St.  Jerome  lives  here  by  what  is  really  the  immortal  bread ; 


THE  SHRINE  OF  THE   SLAVES.          «  133 

but  shall  not  here  be  filled  with  it  so  as  to  hunger  no 
more ;  and  under  his  earthly  cloak  comprehends  as  little 
perhaps  the  Great  Love  he  hungers  after  and  is  fed  by, 
as  his  dog  comprehends  him.  I  am  sure  the  dog  is  there 
with  some  such  purpose  of  comparison.  On  that  very 
last  quoted  passage  of  Dante,  Landino's  commentary  (it 
was  printed  in  Venice,  1491)  annotates  the  words  'die 
drizzaste  '1  eollo,'  with  a  quotation, 

"  '  Cum  spectant  animalia  cetera  terrain 
Os  homini  sublime  dedit,  coehim  tueri  jussit.' 

I  was  myself  brought  entirely  to  pause  of  happy  wonder 
when  first  my  friend  showed  me  the  lessons  hidden  in 
these  pictures;  nor  do  I  at  all  expect  the  reader  at  first  to 
believe  them.  But  the  condition  of  his  possible  belief  in 
them  is  that  he  approach  them  with  a  pure  heart  and  a 
meek  one  ;  for  this  Carpaccio  teaching  is  like  the  talisman 
of  Siiladin,  which,  dipped  in  pure  water,  made  it  a  healing 
draught,  but  by  itself  seemed  only  a  little  inwoven  web  of 
silk  and  gold. 

But  to-day,  that  we  may  be  able  to  read  better  to- 
morrow, we  will  leave  this  cell  of  sweet  mysteries,  and 
examine  some  of  the  painter's  earlier  work,  in  which  we 
may  learn  his  way  of  writing  more  completely,  and  under- 
stand the  degree  in  which  his  own  personal  character,  or 
prejudices,  or  imperfections,  mingle  in  the  method  of  his 
scholarship,  and  colour  or  divert  the  current  of  his  in- 
spiration. 

Therefore  now,  taking  gondola  again,  you  must  be 
carried  through  the  sea-streets  to  a  far-away  church,  in 
the  part  of  Venice  now  wholly  abandoned  to  the  poor, 
though  a  kingly  saint's — St.  Louis's  :  but  there  are  other 


134:      *     THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES. 

things  in  this  church  to  be  noted,  besides  Carpaccio,  which 
will  be  useful  in  illustration  of  him  ;  and  to  see  these 
rightly,  you  must  compare  with  them  things  of  the  same 
kind  in  another  church  where  there  are  no  Carpaccios, — 
namely,  St.  Pantaleone,  to  which,  being  the  nearer,  you 
had  better  first  direct  your  gondolier. 

For  the  ceilings  alone  of  these  two  churches,  St.  Panta- 
leone and  St.  Alvise,  are  worth^  a  day's  pilgrimage  in 
their  sorrowful  lesson. 

All  the  mischief  that  Paul  Veronese  did  may  be  seen  in 
the  halting  and  hollow  magnificences  of  them  ; — all  the 
absurdities,  either  of  painting  or  piety,  under  afflatus  of 
vile  ambition.  Roof  puffed  up  and  broken  through,  as  it 
were,  with  breath  of  the  fiend  from  below,  instead  of 
pierced  by  heaven's  light  from  above  ;  the  rags  and  ruins 
of  Venetian  skill,  honour,  and  worship,  exploded  all 
together  sky-high.  Miracles  of  frantic  mistake,  of  flaunt- 
ing and  thunderous  hypocrisy, — universal  lie,  shouted 
through  speaking-trumpets. 

If  1  could  let  you  stand  for  a  few  minutes,  first  under 
Giotto's  four-square  vault  at  Assisi,  only  thirty  feet  from 
the  ground,  the  four  triangles  of  it  written  with  the  word 
of  God  close  as  an  illuminated  missal,  and  then  suddenly 
take  you  under  these  vast  staggering  Temples  of  Folly 
and  Iniquity,  you  would  know  what  to  think  of  "modern 
development "  thenceforth. 

The  roof  of  St.  Pantaleone  is,  I  suppose,  the  most 
curious  example  in  Europe  of  the  vulgar  dramatic  effects 
of  painting.  That  of  St.  Alvise  is  little  more  than  a  cari- 
cature of  the  mean  passion  for  perspective,  which  was  the 
first  effect  of  "  science  "  joining  itself  with  art.  And 
under  it,  by  strange  coincidence,  there  are  also  two  notable 


THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES.          135 

pieces  of  plausible  modern  sentiment, — celebrated  pieces 
by  Tiepolo.  He  is  virtually  the  beginner  of  Modernism : 
these  two  pictures  of  his  are  exactly  like  what  a  first-rate 
Parisian  Academy  student  would  do,  setting  himself  to 
conceive  the  sentiment  of  Christ's  flagellation,  after  having 
ie;vd  unlimited  (quantities  of  George  Sand  and  Dumas. 
It  is  well  that  they  chance  to  be  here  :  look  thoroughly  at 
them  and  their  dramatic  chiaroscuros  for  a  little  time, 
observing  that  no  face  is  without  some  expression  of  crime 
or  pain,  and  that  everything  is  always  put  dark  against 
light  or  light  against  dark.  Then  return  to  the  entrance 
of  the  church,  where  under  the  gallery,  frameless  and 
neglected,  hang  eight  old  pictures, — bought,  the  story 
goes,  at  a  pawnbroker's  in  the  Giudecca  for  forty  sous 
each,* — to  me  among  the  most  interesting  pieces  of  art 
in  North  Italy,  for  they  are  the  only  examples  I  know  of 
an  entirely  great  man's  work  in  extreme  youth.  They 
are  Carpaccio's,  when  he  cannot  have  been  more  than 
eight  or  ten  years  old,  and  painted  then  half  in  precocious 
pride  and  half  in  play.  I  would  give  anything  to  know 
their  real  history.  "School  pictures,"  C.  C.  call  them! 
as  if  they  were  merely  bad  imitations,  when  they  are  the 
most  unaccountable  and  unexpected  pieces  of  absurd  fancy 
that  ever  came  into  a  1  joy's  head,  and  scrabbled,  rather 
than  painted,  by  a  boy's  hand, — yet,  with  the  eternal 
master-touch  in  them  alreadv. 

SUBJECTS. — 1.  .Rachel  at  the  Well.  2.  Jacob  and  his 
Sons  before  Joseph.  3.  Tobias  and  the  Angel.  4.  The 
Three  Holy  Children.  5.  Job.  6.  Moses,  and  Adoration 

*  "  Originally  in  St.  Maria  della  Vcrgine  "  (C.  C.).  Why  are  not 
the  document*  on  the  authority  of  which  these  statements  are  made 
given  clearly  ? 


136  THE  SHRINE  OF  THE   SLAVES. 

of  Golden  Calf  (C.C.).  7.  Solomon  and  the  Queen  of 
Sheba.  8.  Joshua  and  falling  Jericho. 

In  all  these  pictures  the  qualities  of  Carpac'cio  are 
already  entirely  pronounced ;  the  grace,  quaintness,  sim- 
plicity, and  deep  intentness  on  the  meaning  of  incidents. 
I  don't  know  if  the  grim  statue  in  No.  4:  is,  as  C.  G.  have 
it,  the  statue  of  Nebuchadnezzar's  dream,  or  that  which 
he  erected  for  the  three  holy  ones  to  worship, — and 
already  I  forget  how  the  "worship  of  the  golden  calf" 
according  to  C.  C.,  and  "  Moses  "  according  to  my  note, 
(and  I  believe  the  inscription,  for  most  of,  if  not  all,  the 
subjects  are  inscribed  with  the  names  of  the  persons 
represented,)  are  relatively  pourtrayed.  But  I  have  not 
forgotten,  and  beg  my  reader  to  note  specially,  the  ex- 
quisite strangeness  of  the  boy's  rendering  of  the  meeting 
of  Solomon  and  the  Queen  of  Sheba.  One  would  have 
expected  the  Queen's  retinue,  and  her  spice-bearing 
camels,  and  Solomon's  house  and  his  servants,  and  his 
cup-bearers  in  all  their  glory ;  and  instead  of  this,  Solo- 
mon and  the  Queen  stand  at  the  opposite  ends  of  a  little 
wooden  bridge  over  a  ditch,  and  there  is  not  another  soul 
near  them, — and  the  question  seems  to  be  which  first  shall 
set  foot  on  it ! 

Now,  what  can  we  expect  in  the  future  of  the  man  or 
boy  who  conceives  his  subjects,  or  is  liable  to  conceive 
them,  after  this  sort  ?  There  is  clearly  something  in  his 
head  which  we  cannot  at  all  make  out ;  a  ditch  must  be 
to  him  the  Rubicon,  the  Euphrates,  the  Red  Sea. — Heaven 
only  knows  what !  a  wooden  bridge  must  be  Rialto  in 
embryo.  This  unattended  King  and  Queen  must  mean 
the  pre-eminence  of  uncounselled  royalty,  or  what  not ; 
in  a  word,  there's  no  saying,  and  no  criticizing  him  ;  and 


THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES.          137 

the  less,  because  his  gift  of  colour  and  his  enjoyment  of 
all  visible  things  around  him  are  so  intense,  so  instinctive, 
and  so  constant,  that  he  is  never  to  be  thought  of  as  a 
responsible  person,  but  only  as  a  kind  of  magic  mirror 
which  flashes  back  instantly  whatever  it  sees  beautifully 
arranged,  but  yet  will  flash  back  commonplace  things 
often  as  faithfully  as  others. 

I  was  especially  struck  with  this  character  of  his,  as 
opposed  to  the  grave  and  balanced  design  of  Luini,  when 
after  working  six  months  with  Carpaccio,  I  went  back  to 
the  St.  Stephen  at  Milan,  in  the  Monasterio  Maggiore. 
In  order  to  do  justice  to  either  painter,  they  should  be 
alternately  studied  for  a  little  while.  In  one  respect, 
Luini  greatly  gains,  and  Carpaccio  suffers  by  this  trial ; 
for  whatever  is  in. the  least  flat  or  hard  in  the  Venetian  is 
felt  more  violently  by  contrast  with  the  infinite  sweetness 
of  the  Lombard's  harmonies,  while  only  by  contrast  with 
the  vivacity  of  the  Venetian  can  you  entirely  feel  the 
depth  in  t-iintness,  and  the  grace  in  quietness,  of  Luini's 
chiaroscuro.  But  the  principal  point  of  difference  is  in 
the  command  which  Luini  has  over  his  thoughts,  every 
design  of  his  being  concentrated  on  its  main  purpose  with 
(piite  visible  art,  and  all  accessories  that  would  in  the  least 
have  interfered  with  it  withdrawn  in  merciless  asceticism; 
whereas  a  subject  under  Carpaccio's  hand  is  always  just  as 
it  would  or  might  have  occurred  in  nature ;  and  among  a 
myriad  of  trivial  incidents,  you  are  left,  by  your  own  sense 
and  sympathy,  to  discover  the  vital  one. 

For  instance,  there  are  two  small  pictures  of  his  in  the 
Brera  gallery  at  Milan,  which  may  at  once  be  compared 
with  the  Luinis  there.  I  find  the  following  notice  of 
them  in  my  diary  for  Oth  September,  1876  : — 


138          THE  SHEINE  OF  THE  SLAVES. 

"  Here,  in  the  sweet  air,  with  a  whole  world  in  ruin 
round  me.  The  misery  of  my  walk  through  the  Brera 
yesterday  no  tongue  can  tell ;  but  two  curious  lessons 
were  given  me  by  Carpaccio.  The  first,  in  his  preaching 
of  St.  Stephen — Stephen  up  in  the  corner  where  nobody 
would  think  of  him ;  the  doctors,  one  in  lecture  throne, 
the  rest  in  standing  groups  mostly — Stephen's  face  radiant 
with  true  soul  of  heaven, — the  doctors,  not  monsters  of 
iniquity  at  all,  but  superbly  true  and  quiet  studies  from 
the  doctors  of  Carpaccio's  time ;  doctors  of  this  world— 
not  one  with  that  look  of  heaven,  but  respectable  to  the 
uttermost,  able,  just,  penetrating:  a  complete  assembly  of 
highly  trained  old  Oxford  men,  but  with  more  intentness. 
The  second,  the  Virgin  going  up  to  the  temple  ;  and 
under  the  steps  of  it,  a  child  of  ten  or  twelve  with  his 
back  to  u?,  dressed  in  a  parti-coloured,  square-cut  robe, 
holding  a  fawn  in  leash,  at  his  side  a  rabbit;  on  the  steps 
under  the  Virgin's  feet  a  bas-relief  of  fierce  fight  of  men 
with  horned  monsters  like  rampant  snails  :  one  with  a 
conger-eel's  body,  twining  round  the  limb  of  the  man  who 
strikes  it." 

Now  both  these  pictures  are  liable  to  be  passed  almost 
without  notice  ;  they  scarcely  claim  to  be  compositions  at 
all ;  but  the  one  is  a  confused  group  of  portraits ;  the 
other,  a  quaint  piece  of  grotesque,  apparently  without  any 
meaning,  the  principal  feature  in  it,  a  child  in  a  parti- 
coloured cloak.  It  is  only  when,  with  more  knowledge 
of  what  we  may  expect  from  the  painter,  we  examine 
both  pictures  carefully,  that  the  real  sense  of  either  comes 
upon  us.  For  the  heavenly  look  on  the  face  of  Stephen 
is  not  set  off  with  raised  light,  or  opposed  shade,  or  prin- 
cipality of  place.  The  master  trusts  only  to  what  nature 


THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES.          139 

herself  would  have  trusted  in — expression  pure  and  simple. 
If  you  cannot  see  heaven  in  the  boy's  mind,  without  any 
turning  on  of  the  stage  lights,  you  shall  not  see  it  at  all. 

There  is  some  one  else,  however,  whom  you  may  see, 
on  looking  carefully  enough.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
group  of  old  doctors  is  another  youth,  just  of  Stephen's 
age.  And  as  the  face  of  Stephen  is  full  of  heavenly  rap- 
ture, so  that  of  his  opposite  is  full  of  darkest  wrath. — the 
religious  wrath  which  all  the  authority  of  the  conscience 
urges,  instead  of  quenching.  The  old  doctors  hear  Ste- 
phen's speech  with  doubtful  pause  of  gloom  ;  but  this 
youth  has  no  patience, — no  endurance  for  it.  He  will  be 
the  first  to  cry,  Away  with  him, — "  Whosoever  will  cast 
a  stone  at  him,  let  them  lay  their  mantle  at  my  feet." 

Again — looking  again  and  longer  at  the  other  pictures, 
you  will  first  correct  my  mistake  of  writing  "fawn  " 
discovering  the  creature  held  by  the  boy  to  be  a  unicorm* 
Then  you  will  at  once  know  that  the  whole  must  be 
symbolic;  and  looking  for  the  meaning  of  the  unicorn, 
you  find  it  signifies  chastity ;  and  then  you  see  that  the 
bas-relief  on  the  steps,  which  the  little  Virgin  ascends, 
must  mean  the  warring  of  the  old  strengths  of  the  world 
with  lust:  which  theme  you  will  find  presently  taken  up 
also  and  completed  by  the  symbols  of  St.  George's  Chapel. 
If  now  you  pass  from  these  pictures  to  any  of  the  Luini 
frescoes  in  the  same  gallery,  you  will  at  once  recognize  a 
total  difference  in  conception  and  treatment.  The  thing 
which  Luini  wishes  you  to  observe  is  held  forth  to  you 
with  direct  and  instant  proclamation.  The  saint,  angel, 
or  Madonna,  is  made  central  or  principal ;  every  figure  in 
the  surrounding  group  is  subordinate,  and  every  accessory 
*  Corrected  for  me  by  Mr.  C.  F.  Murray. 


140          THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES. 

subdued  or  generalized.  All  the  precepts  of  conventional 
art  are  obeyed,  and  the  invention  and  originality  of  the 
master  are  only  shown  by  the  variety  with  which  he 
adorns  the  commonplace, — by  the  unexpected  grace  with 
which  he  executes  what  all  have  done, — and  the  sudden 
freshness  with  which  he  invests  what  all  have  thought. 

This  external  difference  in  the  manner  of  the  two 
painters  is  connected  with  a  much  deeper  element  in  the 
constitution  of  their  minds.  To  Carpaccio,  whatever  he 
has  to  represent  must  be  a  reality ;  whether  a  symbol  or 
not,  afterwards,  is  no  matter,  the  first  condition  is  that  it 
shall  be  real.  A  serpent,  or  a  bird,  may  perhaps  mean 
iniquity  or  purity ;  but  primarily,  they  must  have  real 
scales  and  feathers.  But  with  Luini,  everything  is  pri- 
marily an  idea,  and  only  realized  so  far  as  to  enable  you 
to  understand  what  is  meant.  When  St.  Stephen  stands 
beside  Christ  at  his  scourging,  and  turns  to  us  who  look 
on,  asking  with  unmistakable  passion,  "Was  ever  sorrow 
like  this  sorrow?"  Luini  does  not  mean  that  St.  Stephen 
really  stood  there ;  but  only  that  the  thought  of  the  saint 
who  first  saw  Christ  in  glory  may  best  lead  us  to  the 
thought  of  Christ  in  pain.  But  when  Carpaccio  paints 
St.  Stephen  preaching,  he  means  to  make  us  believe  that 
St.  Stephen  really  did  preach,  and  as  far  as  he  can,  to 
show  us  exactly  how  he  did  it. 

And,  lastly,  to  return  to  the  point  at  which  we  left  him. 
His  own  notion  of  the  way  things  happened  may  be  a 
very  curious  one,  and  the  more  so  that  it  cannot  be  regu- 
lated even  by  himself,  but  is  the  result  of  the  singular 
power  he  has  of  seeing  things  in  vision  as  if  they  were 
real.  So  that  when,  as  we  have  seen,  he  paints  Solomon 
and  the  Queen  of  §heba  standing  at  opposite  ends  of  a 


THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES.          141 

wooden  bridge  over  a  ditch,  we  are  not  to  suppose  the  two 
persons  are  less  real  to  him  on  that  account,  though  absurd 
to  us ;  but  we  are  to  understand  that  -such  a  vision  of  them 
did  indeed  appear  to  the  boy  who  had  passed  all  his  dawn- 
ing life  among  wooden  bridges,  over  ditches ;  and  had 
the  habit  besides  of  spiritualizing,  or  reading  like  a 
vision,  whatever  he  saw  with  eyes  either  of  the  body  or 
mind. 

The  delight  which  he  had  in  this  faculty  of  vision,  and 
the   industry  with  which  he  cultivated   it,  can  only  be 
justly  estimated  by  close  examination  of  the  marvellous 
picture  in  the  Correr  Museum,  representing  two  Venetian  453 
ladies  with  their  pets. 

In  the  last  general  statement  I  have  made  of  the  rank 
of  painters,  I  named  two  pictures  of  John  Bellini,  the 
Madonna  in  San  Zaccaria,  and  that  in  the  sacristy  of  the 
Frari,  as,  so  far  as  my  knowledge  went,  the  two  best 
pictures  in  the  world.  In  that  estimate  of  them  I  of 
course  considered  as  one  chief  element,  their  solemnity  of 
purpose — as  another,  their  unpretending  simplicity.  Put- 
ting aside  these  higher  conditions,  and  looking  only  to 
perfection  of  execution  and  essentially  artistic  power  of 
design.  I  rank  this  Carpaccio  above  either  of  them,  and 
therefore,  as  in  these  respects,  the  best  picture  in  the 
world.  I  know  no  other  which  unites  every  nameable 
quality  of  painter's  art  in  so  intense  a  degree — breadth 
witli  minuteness,  brjlliancy  with  quietness,  decision,  with 
tenderness,  colour  witli  light  and  shade  :  all  that  is  faith- 
fullest  in  Holland,  fancifullest  in  Venice,  severest  in  Flor- 
'  ' 

encc,  natiiralest  in  England.  Whatever  de  Hooghe  could 
do  in  shade,  Van  Eyck  in  detail — Giorgione  in  mass — 
Titian  in  colour — Bewick  and  Landseer  in  animal  life,  is 


142  THE  SHRINE  OP  THE   SLAVES. 

here  at  once  ;  and  I  know  no  other  picture  in  the  world 
which  can  be  compared  with  it. 

It  is  in  tempera,  however,  not  oil :  and  I  must  note  in 
passing  that  many  of  the  qualities  which  I  have  been  in 
the  habit  of  praising  in  Tintoret  and  Carpaccio,  as  consum- 
mate achievements  in  oil-painting,  are,  as  I  have  found 
lately,  either  in  tempera  altogether,  or  tempera  with  oil 
above.  And  I  am  disposed  to  think  that  ultimately 
tempera  will  be  found  the  proper  material  for  the  greater 
number  of  most  delightful  subjects. 

The  subject,  in  the  present  instance,  is  a  simple  study 
of  animal  life  in  all  its  phases.  I  am  quite  sure  that  this 
is  the  meaning  of  the  picture  in  Carpaccio's  own  mind.  I 
suppose  him  to  have  been  commissioned  to  paint  the  por- 
traits of  two  Venetian  ladies — that  he  did  not  altogether 
like  his  models,  but  yet  felt  himself  bound  to  do  his  best 
for  them,  and  contrived  to  do  what  perfectly  satisfied  them 
and  himself  too.  He  has  painted  their  pretty  faces 
and  pretty  shoulders,  their  pretty  dresses  and  pretty 
jewels,  their  pretty  ways  and  their  pretty  playmates — and 
what  would  they  have  more  ? — he  himself  secretly  laugh- 
ing at  them  all  the  time,  and  intending  the  spectators  of 
the  future  to  laugh  for  ever. 

It  may  be,  however,  that  I  err  in  supposing  the  picture 
a  portrait  commission.  It  may  be  simply  a  study  for 
practice,  gathering  together  every  kind  of  thing  which  he 
could  get  to  sit  to  him  quietly,  persuading  the  pretty 
ladies  to  sit  to  him  in  all  their  finery,  and  to  keep  their 
pets  quiet  as  long  as  they  could,  while  yet  he  gave  value 
to  this  new  group  of  studies  in  a  certain  unity  of  satire 
against  the  vices  of  society  in  his  time. 

Of  this  satirical  purpose  there  cannot  be  question  for  a 


THE   SHRINE  OF  THE    SLAVES.  143 

moment,  with  any  one  who  knows  the  general  tone  of 
the  painter's  mind,  and  the  traditions  among  which  lie 
had  been  educated.  In  all  the  didactic  painting  of 
mediaeval  Christianity,  the  faultful  luxury  of  the  upper 
classes  was  symbolized  by  the  knight  with  his  falcon,  and 
lady  witli  her  pet  dog,  both  in  splendid  dress.  This 
pictuic  is  only  the  elaboration  of  the  well-recognized 
symbol  of  the  lady  with  her  pets;  but  there  are  two 
ladies— mother  and  daughter,  I  think — and  six  pets,  a  big 
dog,  a  little  dog,  a  parroquet,  a  peahen,  a  little  boy,  and  a 
china  vase.  The  youngest  of  the  women  sits  serene  in 
her  pride,  her  erect  head  pale  against  the  dark  sky — the 
elder  is  playing  with  the  two  dogs ;  the  least,  a  white 
terrier,  she  is  teaching  to  beg,  holding  him  up  by  his 
fore-paws,  with  her  left  hand  ;  in  her  right  is  a  slender 
riding-whip,  which  the  larger  dog  has  the  end  of  in  his 
mouth,  and  will  not  let  go — his  mistress  also  having 
dropped  a  letter,*  lie  puts  his  paw  on  that  and  will  not 
let  her  pick  it  up,  looking  out  of  gentlest  eyes  in  arch 
watchfulness  to  see  how  far  it  will  please  her  that  lie 
should  carry  the  jest.  Behind  him  the  green  parroquet, 
red-eyed,  lifts  its  little  claw  as  if  disliking  the  marble 
pavement;  then  behind  the  marble  balustrade  with  gilded 
capitals,  the  bird  and  little  boy  are  inlaid  with  glowing 
brown  and  red.  Nothing  of  Hunt  or  Turner  can  surpass 
the  plume  painting  of  the  bird;  nor  can  Holbein  surpass 
the  precision,  while  he  cannot  equal  the  radiance,  of  the 
porcelain  and  jewellery. 

To  mark  the  satirical  purpose  of  the  whole,  a  pair  of 
ladies'  shoes  are  put  in  the  corner,  (the  high-stilted  shoe, 
being,  in  fact,  a  slipper  on  the  top  of  a  column,)  which 

*  The  painter's  signature  is  on  the  supposed  letter. 


144          THE  SHEINE  OP  THE  SLAVES. 

were  the  grossest  and  absuraest  means  of  expressing 
female  pride  in  the  fifteenth  and  following  centuries. 

In  thig  picture,  then,  you  may  discern  at  once  how  Car- 
paccio  learned  his  business  as  a  painter,  and  to  what  con- 
summate point  he  learned  it.* 

And  now,  if  you  have  begun  to  feel  the  power  of  these 
minor  pictures,  3-011  can  return  to  the  Academy  and  take 
up  the  St.  Ursula  series,  on  which,  however,  I  find  it 
hopeless  to  reduce  my  notes  to  any  available  form  at  pres- 
ent : — the  question  of  the  influence  of  this  legend  on 
Venetian  life  being  involved  with  enquiries  belonging 
properly  to  what  I  am  trying  to  do  in  "  St.  Mark's  Rest." 
This  only  you  have  to  observe  generally,  that  being  meant 
to  occiqry  larger  spaces,  the  St.  Ursula  pictures  are  very 
unequal  in  interest,  and  many  portions  seem  to  me  tired 
work,  while  others  are  maintained  by  Mr.  Murray  to  be 
only  by  the  hands  of  scholars.  This,  however,  I  can  my- 
self assert,  that  I  never  yet  began  to  copyw  examine  any 
portion  of  them  without  continually  increasing  admira- 
tion ;  while  yet  there  are  certain  shortcomings  and  mor- 
bid faults  throughout,  unaccountable,  and  rendering  the 
greater  part  of  the  work  powerless  for  good  to  the  general 
public.  Taken  as  a  connected  series,  the  varying  person- 
ality of  the  saint  destroys  its  interest  totally.  The  girl 
talking  to  her  father  in  539  is  not  the  girl  who  dreams  in 
533 ;  and  the  gentle  little  dreamer  is  still  less  like  the  se- 
vere, stiffly  dressed,  and  not  in  any  supreme  degree  well 

*  Another  Carpaccio,  in  the  Correr  Museum,  of  St.  Mary  and  Eliza- 
beth, is  entirely  lovely,  though  slighter  in  work;  and  the  so  called  Man- 
tegn.i,  but  more  probably  (according  to  Mr.  Murray1)  early  John  Bellini, 
— the  Transfiguration, — fuH  °f  majesty  and  earnestness.  Note  the  in- 
scribed '•  talk  "  with  Moses  and  Elias, — "  Have  pity  upon  me,  have  pity 
upon  me,  oh  ye  my  iriends." 


THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  SLAVES.          145 

favoured,  bride,  in  542 ;  while  the  middle-aged  woman, 
without  any  claim  to  beauty  at  all,  who  occupies  the  prin- 
cipal place  in  the  final  Gloria,  cannot  by  any  effort  of  im- 
agination be  connected  with  the  figure  of  the  young  girl 
kneeling  for  the  Pope's  blessing  in  546. 

But  indeed  had  the  story  been  as  consistently  told  as 
the  accessories  are  perfectly  painted,  there  would  have 
been  no  occasion  for  me  now  to  be  lecturing  on  the  beau- 
ties of  Carpaccio.  The  public  would  long  since  have  dis- 
covered them,  and  adopted  him  for  a  favourite.  That 
precisely  in  the  particulars  which  would  win  popular  at- 
tention, the  men  whom  it  would  be  most  profitable  for  the 
public  to  study  should  so  often  fail,  becomes  to  me,  as  I 
grow  older,  one  of  those  deepest  mysteries  of  life,  which 
I  only  can  hope  to  have  explained  to  me  when  rny  task  of 
interpretation  is  ended. 

But,  for  the  sake  of  Christian  charity,  I  would  ask 
every  generous  Protestant  to  pause  for  a  while  before  the 
meeting  under  the  Castle  of  St.  Angelo,  (546). 

"Xobody  knows  anything  about  those  old  things,"  said 
an  English  paterfamilias  to  some  enquiring  member  of 
his  family,  in  the  hearing  of  my  assistant,  then  at  work  on 
this  picture.  Which  saying  is  indeed  supremely  true  of  us 
nationally.  But  without  requiring  us  to  know  anything, 
this  picture  puts  before  us  some  certainties  respecting  me- 
diaeval Catholicism,  which  we  shall  do  well  to  remember. 

In  the  first  place,  you  will  find  that  all  these  bishops  and 
cardinals  are  evidently  portraits.  Their  faces  are  too  va- 
ried— too  quiet — too  complete — to  have  been  invented  by 
even  the  mightiest  invention.  Carpaccio  was  simply  tak- 
ing the  features  of  the  priesthood  of  his  time,  throwing 
aside,  doubtless,  here  and  there,  matter  of  offence; — the 
7 


146  THE   SHRINE  OF  THE   SLATES. 

too  settled  gloom  of  one,  the  evident  subtlety  of  another, 
the  sensuality  of  a  third  ;  but  finding  beneath  all  that, 
what  was  indeed  the  constitutional  power  and  pith  of 
their  minds, — in  the  deep  of  them,  rightly  thoughtful, 
tender,  and  humble. 

There  is  one  curious  little  piece  of  satire  on  the  fault 
of  the  Church  in  making  cardinals  of  too  young  persons. 
The  third,  in  the  row  of  four  behind  St.  Ursula,  is  a  mere 
boy,  very  beautiful,  but  utterly  careless  of  what  is  going 
on,  and  evidently  no  more  fit  to  be  a  cardinal  than  a  young 
calf  would  be.  The  stiffness  of  his  white  dress,  standing 
up  under  his  chin  as  if  he  had  only  put  it  on  that  day, 
draws -especial  attention  to  him. 

The  one  opposite  to  him  also,  without  this  piece  of 
white  dress,  seems  to  be  a  mere  man  of  the  world.  But 
the  others  have  all  grave  and  refined  faces.  That  of  the 
Pope  himself  is  quite  exquisite  in  its  purity,  simple-heart- 
edness, and  joyful  wonder  at  the  sight  of  the  child  kneel- 
ing at  his  feet,  in  whom  he  recognizes  one  whom  he  is 
himself  to  learn  of,  and  follow. 

The  more  I  looked  at  this  picture,  the  more  I  became 
wonderstruck  at  the  way  the  faith  of  the  Christian  Church 
has  been  delivered  to  us  through  a  series  of  fables,  which, 
partly  meant  as  such,  are  over-ruled  into  expressions  of 
truth — but  how  much  truth,  it  is  only  by  our  own  vir- 
tuous life  that  we  can  know.  Only  remember  always  in 
criticizing  such  a  picture,  that  it  no  more  means  to  tell 
you  as  a  fact*  that  St.  Ursula  led  this  long  procession 
from  the  sea  and  knelt  thus  before  the  Pope,  than  Man- 
tegna's  St.  Sebastian  means  that  the  saint  ever  stood 

*  If  it  had  been  a  fact,  of  course  he  would  have  liked  it  all  the  better, 
as  in  the  picture  of  St.  Stephen ;  but  though  only  an  idea,  it  must  be  re- 
alized to  tne  full. 


THE   SHRINE   OF  THE   SLAVES.  147 

quietly  and  happily,  stuck  full  of  arrows.  It  is  as  much  a 
mythic  symbol  as  the  circles  and  crosses  of  the  Carita ; 
but  only  Carpaccio  carries  out  his  symbol  into  delighted 
realization,  so  that  it  begins  to  be  absurd  to  us  in  the  per- 
ceived impossibility.  But  it  only  signifies  the  essential 
truth  of  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost  filling  the  whole  body  of 
the  Christian  Church  with  visible  inspiration,  sometimes 
in  old  men,  sometimes  in  children  ;  yet  never  breaking 
the  laws  of  established  authority  and  subordination — the 
greater  saint  blessed  by  the  lesser,  when  the  lesser  is  in 
the  higher  place  of  authoritv,  and  all  the  common  and 

O  1  f    ' 

natural  glories  and  delights  of  the  world  made  holy  by  its 
influence:  tield,  and  earth,  and  mountain,  and  sea,  and 
bright  maiden's  grace,  and  old  men's  quietness, — all  in 
one  music  of  moving  peace — the  very  procession  of  them 
in  their  multitude  like  a  chanted  hymn — the  purple  stand- 
ards drooping  in  the  light  air  that  yet  can  lift  St.  George's 
gonfalon  ;  *  and  the  angel  Michael  alighting — himself  seen 
in  vision  instead  of  his  statue — on  the  Angel's  tower, 
.sheathing  his  sword. 

What  I  have  to  say  respecting  the  picture  that  closes 
the  series,  the  martyrdom  and  funeral,  is  partly  saddening, 
partly  depreciatory,  and  shall  be  reserved  for  another 
place.  The  picture  itself  has  been  more  injured  and  re- 
painted than  any  other  (the  face  of  the  recumbent  figure 
entirely  so)  ;  and  though  it  is  full  of  marvellous  passages, 
I  hope  that  the  general  traveller  will  seal  his  memory  of 
Carpaccio  in  the  picture  last  described. 

*  It  is  especially  to  be  noted  with  Carpaccio,  and  perhaps  more  in 
this  than  any  other  of  the  series,  that  he  represents  the  beauty  of  relig- 
ion always  in  animating  the  present  world,  and  never  <^i\vs  the  charm 
to  the  clear  far-away  sky  which  is  so  constant  in  Florentine  sacred  pic- 
tures. 


SECOND    SUPPLEMENT. 

THE  PLACE  OF  DRAGONS. 

JAMES    K EDDIE    ANDERSON,    M.A. 


PKEFACE. 


AMONG  the  many  discomforts  of  advancing  age,  which 
no  one  understands  till  he  feels  them,  there  is  one  which 
I  seldom  have  heard  complained  of,  and  which,  therefore, 
I  find  unexpectedly  disagreeable.  I  knew,  by  report,  that 
when  I  grew  old  I  should  most  probably  wish  to  be  young 
again;  and,  very  certainly,  be  ashamed  of  much  that.  I 
had  done,  or  omitted,  in  the  active  years  of  life.  I  was 
prepared  tor  sorrow  in  the  loss  of  friends  by  death ;  and 
for  pain,  in  the  loss  of  myself,  by  weakness  or  sickness. 
These,  and  many  other  minor  calamities,  I  have  been  long 
accustomed  to  anticipate  ;  and  therefore  to  read,  in  prepa- 
ration for  them,  the  confessions  of  the  weak,  and  the  con- 
solations of  the  wise. 

But,  as  the  time  of  rest,  or  of  departure,  approaches  me, 
not  only  do  many  of  the  evils  I  had  heard  of,  and  pre- 
pared for,  present  themselves  in  more  grievous  shapes 
than  I  had  expected ;  but  one  which  I  had  scarcely  ever 
heard  of,  torments  me  increasingly  every  hour. 

I  had  understood  it  to  be  in  the  order  of  things  that  the 
aged  should  lament  their  vanishing  life  as  an  instrument 
they  had  never  used,  now  to  be  taken  away  from  them  ; 
but  not  as  an  instrument,  only  then  perfectly  tempered 
and  sharpened,  and  snatched  out  of  their  hands  at  the  in- 
stant they  could  have  done  some  real  service  with  it. 
Whereas,  my  own  feeling,  now,  is  that  everything  which 


152  PKEFACE. 

has  hitherto  happened  to  me,  or  been  done  by  me,  wheth- 
er well  or  ill,  has  been  fitting  me  to  take  greater  fortune 
more  prudently,  and  do  better  work  more  thoroughly. 
And  just  when  I  seem  to  be  coming  out  of  school — very 
sorry  to  have  been  such  a  foolish  boy,  yet  having  taken  a 
prize ,or  two,  and  expecting  to  enter  now  upon  some  more 
serious  business  than  cricket, — I  am  dismissed  by  the  Master 
I  hoped  to  serve,  with  a — "  That's  all  I  want  of  you,  sir." 

I  imagine  the  sorrowfulness  of  these  feelings  must  be 
abated,  in  the  minds  of  most  men,  by  a  pleasant  vanity  in 
their  hope  of  being  remembered  as  the  discoverers,  at 
least,  of  some  important  truth,  or  the  founders  of  some 
exclusive  system  called  after  their  own  names.  But  I 
have  never  applied  myself  to  discover  anything,  being 
content  to  praise  what  had  already  been  discovered  ;  and 
the  only  doctrine  or  system  peculiar  to  me  is  the  abhor- 
rence of  all  that  is  doctrinal  instead  of  demonstrable,  and 
of  all  that  is  systematic  instead  of  useful :  so  that  no  true 
disciple  of  mine  will  ever  be  a  "  Ruskinian  "  ! — he  will 
follow,  not  me,  but  the  instincts  of  his  own  soul,  and  the 
guidance  of  its  Creator.  Which,  though'  not  a  sorrowful 
subject  of  contemplation  in  itself,  leaves  me  none  of  the 
common  props  and  crutches  of  halting  pride.  I  know 
myself  to  be  a  true  master,  because  my  pupils  are  well  on 
the  way  to  do  better  than  I  have  done ;  but  there  is  not 
always  a  sense  of  extreme  pleasure  in  watching  their  ad- 
vance, where  one  has  no  more  strength,  though  more  than 
ever  the  will,  to  companion  them. 

Not  always — be  it  again  confessed ;  but  when  I  first 
read  the  legend  of  St.  George,  which  here  follows,  my 
eyes  grew  wet  with  tears  of  true  delight;  first,  in  the 
knowledge  of  so  many  beautiful  things,  at  once  given  to 


PREFACE.  153 

rne;  and  then  in  the  surety  of  the  wide  good  that  the 
work  thus  begun  would  spring  up  into,  in  ways  before 
wholly  unconceived  by  me.  It  was  like  coining  to  the 
brow  of  some  healthy  moorland,  where  here  and  there 
one  had  watched,  or  helped,  the  reaper  of  some  patch  of 
thinly  scattered  corn ;  and  seeing  suddenly  a  great  plain 
white  to  the  harvest,  far  as  the  horizon.  That  the  first- 
fruits  of  it  might  be  given  in  no  manner  of  self-exaltation 
— Fors  has  determined  that  my  young  scholar  should  have 
his  part  of  mortification  as  well  as  I,  just  in  the  degree  in 
which  either  of  us  may  be  mortified  in  the  success  of 
others.  For  we  both  thought  that  the  tracing  of  this 
chain  of  tradition  in  the  story  of  St.  George  was  ours 
alone  ;  and  that  we  had  rather  to  apprehend  the  doubt  of 
our  result,  than  the  dispute  of  our  originality.  Nor  was 
it,  indeed,  without  extreme  discomfiture  and  vexation  that 
after  I  had  been  hindered  from  publishing  this  paper  for 
upwards  of  ten  months  from  the  time  it  was  first  put  into 
my  hands,  I  read,  on  a  bright  autumn  morning  at  Brant- 
wood,  when  I  expected  the  author's  visit,  (the  first  he  had 
made  to  me  in  my  own  house,)  a  paragraph  in  the  "  Spec- 
tator," giving  abstract  of  exactly  the  same  historical  state- 
ments, made  by  a  French  antiquary,  M.  Clermont-Ganneau. 
I  am  well  assured  that  Professor  Airey  was  not  more 
grieved,  though  I  hope  he  was  more  conscience-stricken, 
for  his  delay  in  the  publication  of  Mr.  Adams'  calcula- 
tions, than  I  was,  for  some  days  after  seeing  this  antici- 
pation of  my  friend's  discoveries.  He  relieved  my  mind 
himself,  after  looking  into  the  matter,  by  pointing  out  to 
me  that  the  original  paper  had  been  read  by  M.  Clermont- 
Ganneau,  before  the  Academic  des  Inscriptions  et  Belles- 
lettres  of  Paris,  two  months  before  his  own,  investigations 
7* 


154  PREFACE. 

had  begun,  and  that  all  question  of  priority  was,  there- 
fore, at  an  end.  It  remained  for  us  only  to  surrender, 
both  of  us,  what  complacency  we  should  have  had  in  first 
announcing  these  facts ;  and  to  take  a  nobler  pleasure  in 
the  confirmation  afforded  of  their  truth  by  the  coincidence, 
to  a  degree  of  accuracy  which  neither  of  us  had  ever 
known  take  place  before  in  the  work  of  two  entirely  inde- 
pendent investigators,  between  M.  Clermont-Ganneau's 
conclusions  and  our  own.  I  therefore  desired  my  friend 
to  make  no  alterations  in  his  paper  as  it  then  stood,  and 
to  make  no  reference  himself  to  the  French  author,  but 
to  complete  his  own  course  of  investigation  independent- 
ly, as  it  was  begun.  We  shall  have  some  bits  all  to  our- 
selves, before  we  have  done ;  and  in  the  meantime  give 
reverent  thanks  to  St.  George,  for  his  help,  to  France  as 
well  as  to  England,  in  enabling  the  two  nations  to  read 
together  the  truth  of  his  tradition,  on  the  distant  clouds 
of  Heaven  and  Time. 

Mr.  Anderson's  work  remains  entirely  distinct,  in  its 
interpretation  of  Carpaccio's  picture  by  this  tradition,  and 
since  at  the  mouth  of  two — or  three,  witnesses  shall  a 
word  be  established,  Carpaccio  himself  thus  becomes  the 
third,  and  the  chief,  witness  to  its  truth ;  arid  to  the 
power  of  it  on  the  farthest  race  of  the  Knights  of  Venice. 

The  present  essay  treats  only  of  the  first  picture  in  the 
chapel  of  St.  George.  I  hope  it  may  now  be  soon  fol- 
lowed by  its  author's  consecutive  studies  of  the  other  sub- 
jects, in  which  he  has  certainly  no  priority  of  effort  to 
recognize,  and  has,  with  the  help  of  the  good  Saints  and 
no  other  persons,  done  all  that  we  shall  need. 

J. 

BRANTWOOD, 
26th  January,  1878. 


THE   PLACE   OF  DRAGONS. 


on  tov  noiijrr)v  dsot,  Eiitsp  yue'AAoz  itoirjTrj^  aivat, 
Ttotstr  uvbov?  «AA'  ov  koyovS." — Plat.  Pliccdo,  61,  B. 

ON  the  eve  of  the  Feast  of  the  Annunciation,  in  the 
year  of  Christ  1452,  the  Council  of  Ten,  by  decree,  per- 
mitted certain  Dalmatians  settled  in  Venice  to  establish  a 
Lay  Brotherhood,  called  of  St.  George  and  of  St.  Trypho- 
nius.  The  brothers  caused  to  be  written  in  illuminated 
letters  on  the  first  pages  of  their  minute  book  their  "  mem- 
orandum of  association."  They  desired  to  "hold  united 
in  sacred  bonds  men  of  Dalmatian  blood,  to  render  hom- 
age to  God  and  to  His  saints  by  charitable  endeavours  and 
religions  ceremonies,  and  to  help  by  holy  sacrifices  the 
souls  of  brothers  alive  and  dead."  The  brotherhood  gave, 
and  continues  to  give,  material  support  to  the  poor  of 
Dalmatian  blood  in  Yenice  ;  money  to  the  old,  and  edu- 
cation to  the  young.  For  prayer  and  adoration  it  built 
the  chapel  known  as  St.  George's  of  the  Sclavonians.  In 
this  chapel,  during  the  first  decade  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, Carpaccio  painted  a  series  of  pictures.  First,  three 
from  the  story  of  St.  Jerome — not  that  St.  Jerome  was 
officially  a  patron  of  the  brothers,  but  a  fellow-country- 
man, and  therefore,  as  it  were,  an  ally ; — then  three  from 
the  story  of  St.  George,  one  from  that  of  St.  Tryphonius, 
and  two  smaller  from  the  Gospel  History.  Allowing  for 


156  THE  PLACE   OF  DKAGONS. 

doorways,  window,  and  altar,  these  nine  pictures  fill  the 
circuit  of  the  chapel  walls. 

Those  representing  St.  George  are  placed  opposite  those 
of  St.  Jerome.  In  the  ante-chapel  of  the  Ducal  Palace, 
Tintoret,  who  studied,  not  without  result  otherwise,  these 
pictures  of  Carpaccio's,  has  placed  the  same  saints  over 
against  each  other.  To  him,  as  to  Carpaccio,  they  repre- 
sented the  two  sides,  practical  and  contemplative,  of  faith- 
ful life.  This  balance  we  still,  though  with  less  complete- 
ness, signify  by  the  linked  names  of  Martha  and  Mary, 
and  Plato  has  expressed  it  fully  by  the  respective  func- 
tions assigned  in  his  ideal  state  to  philosophers  and  guar- 
dians. The  seer  "  able  to  grasp  the  eternal,"  "  spectator 
of  all  time  and  of  all  existence." — you  may  see  him  on 
your  right  as  you  enter  this  chapel, — recognizes  and  de- 
clares God's  Law  :  the  guardian  obeys,  enforces,  and,  if 
need  be,  fights  for  it. 

St.  George,  Husbandman  by  name,  and  "  TpoTiaioya- 
posj"  Triumphant  Warrior,  by  title,  secures  righteous 
peace,  turning  his  spear  into  a  pruning-hook  for  the 
earthly  nature  of  man.  He  is  also  to  be  known  as  "  Meyat- 
XofAaprvp,"  by  his  deeds,  the  great  witness  for  God  in 
the  world,  and  "  TGOV  ddXijTaov  6  jneyas  Tagtcxpxr/S," 
marshal  and  leader  of  those  who  strive  to  obtain  an  in- 
corruptible crown.*  St.  Jerome,  the  seer,  learned  also  in 
all  the  wisdom  of  the  heathen,  is,  as  Plato  tells  us  such  a 
man  should  be.  Lost  in  his  longing  after  "  the  universal 
law  that  knits  human  things  with  divine,"  f  he  shows 

*  These  titles  are  taken  from  the  earliest  (Greek)  records  of  him.  The 
last  corresponds  to  that  of  Baron  Bradwardine's  revered  "Mareschal- 
Duke." 

f  Plat.  Rep.,  VI.  486  A. 


THE   PLACE   OF  DRAGONS.  157 

himself  gentle  and  without  fear,  having  no  terror  even  of 
death.*  In  the  second  picture  on  our  right  here  we  may 
see  with  how  great  quiet  the  old  man  has  laid  himself 
down  to  die,  even  such  a  pillow  beneath  his  head  as  was 
under  Jacob's  upon  that  night  of  vision  by  the  place 
which  he  thenceforward  knew  to  be  the  "  House  of  God," 
though  "  the  name  of  it  was  called  l  Separation  '  f  at  the 
first."  £  The  fantastic  bilingual  interpretation  of  Je- 
rome's name  given  in  the  "  Golden  Legend,"  standard  of 
mediaeval  mythology,  speaks  to  the  same  effect :  "  Hie- 
ronimus,  quod  est  Sanctum  Nemus,"  Holy  Grove,  "  a  ne- 
more  ubi  aliqnando  conversatus  est,"  from  that  one  in 
which  he  sometime  had  his  walk — "  Se  dedit  et  sacri  ne- 
inoris  perpalluit  umbra,"  ||  but  not  beneath  the  laurels  of 
,"  Fun  giogo  de  Parnaso,"  §  to  whose  inferior  summit,  only, 
Dante  in  that  line  alludes,  nor  now  under  olive  boughs — 

"  where  the  Atiick  bird 
Trills  her  thick-warbled  notes  the  summer  long," 

but  where,  once  on  a  winter  night,  shepherds  in  their 

*Plat.  Rep.,  VI.  486  B. 

f  Luz.  This  word  stands  also  for  the  almond  tree,  flourishing  when 
desire  fails,  and  "  man  goeth  to  his  long  home." 

| In  the  21st  and  22nd  Cantos  of  the  "Paradise,"  Dante,  too,  con- 
nects the  dream  of  Jacob  with  the  ascetic,  living  where  "e  consecrate 
un  ermo,  Che  suole  csser  disposto  a  sola  latria."  This  is  in  a  sphere  of 
heaven  where  "  la  dolce  sinfonia  del  Paradiso  "  is  heard  by  mortal  ears 
only  as  overmastering  thunder,  and  where  the  pilgrim  is  taught  that  no 
created  vision,  not  the  seraph's  "che  in  Dio  piu  1'occhio  ha  fisso"  may 
read  that  eternal  statute  by  whose  appointment  spirits  of  the  saints  go 
forth  upon  their  Master's  business  and  return  to  Him  again. 

|  Dante,  "  Eclogues,"  i.  30. 

§  Dante,  "Par."  I.  16. 


158  THE   PLACE  OF  DRAGONS. 

vigil  heard  other  singing,  where  the  palm  bearer  of  bur- 
dens, witness  of  victorious  hope,  offers  to  every  man,  for 
the  gathering,  fruit  unto  everlasting  life.  "  Ad  Beth- 
leem  oppidum  remeavit,  ubi,  prudens  animal,  ad  praesepe 
Domini  se  obtulit  permansurum."  "  He  went,  as  though 
home,  to  the  town  of  Bethlehem,  and  like  a  wise  domes- 
tic creature  presented  himself  at  his  Master's  manger  to 
abide  there." 

After  the  pictures  of  St.  George  comes  that  of  St.  Try- 
phouius.  telling  how  the  prayer  of  a  little  child  shall  con- 
quer the  basilisk  of  earthly  pride,  though  the  soldier's 
spear  cannot  overthrow  this  monster,  nor  maiden's  zone 
bind  him.  After  the  picture  of  St.  Jerome  we  are  given 
the  Calling  of  Matthew,  in  which  Carpaccio  endeavours 
to  declare  how  great  joy  fills  the  fugitive  servant  of  Riches 
when  at  last  he  does  homage  as  true  man  of  another 
Master.  Between  these  two  is  set  the  central  picture  of 
the  nine,  small,  dark  itself,  and  in  a  dark  corner,  in  ar- 
rangement following  pretty  closely  the  simple  tradition  of 
earlier  Venetian  masters.  The  scene  is  an  untilled  gar- 
den— the  subject,  the  Agony  of  our  Lord. 

The  prominent  feature  of  the  stories  Carpaccio  has 
chosen — setting  aside  at  present  the  two  gospel  incidents 
— is  that,  though  heartily  Christian,  they  are  historically 
drawn  quite  as  much  from  Greek  as  from  mediaeval 
mythology.  Even  in  the  scenes  from  St.  Jerome's  life,  a 
well-known  classical  tale,  which  mingled  with  his  legend, 
is  introduced,  and  all  the  paintings  contain  much  ancient 
religions  symbolism.  St.  Tryphonius'  conquest  of  the 
basilisk  is,  as  we  shall  see,  almost  purely  a  legend  of 
Apollo.  From  the  middle  ages  onwards  it  has  been  often 
remarked  how  closely  the  story  of  St.  George  and  the 


THE  PLACE  OF  DRAGONS.  159 

Dragon  resembles  that  of  Perseus  and  Andromeda.  It 
does  nut  merely  resemble, — it  -/*•  that  story. 

The  earliest  and  central  shrine  of  St.  George, — his 
church,  famous  during  the  crusades,  at  Lydda, — rose  by 
the  stream  which  Pausanias,  in  the  second  century,  saw 
running  still  "red  as  blood,"  because  Perseus  had  bathed 
there  after  his  conquest  of  the  sea  monster.  From  the 
neighbouring  town  of  Joppa,  as  Pliny  tells  us,  the  skele- 
ton of  that  monster  was  brought  by.M.  Scaurus  to  Rome 
in  the  first  century  B.C.  St.  Jerome  was  shown  on  this 
very  coast  a  rock  known  by  tradition  as  that  to  which 
Andromeda  had  been  bound.  Before  his  day  Josephus 
had  seen  in  that  rock  the  holes  worn  by  her  fetters. 

In  the  place  chosen  by  fate  for  this  the  most  famous 
and  finished  example  of  harmony  between  the  old  faith 
and  the  new  there  is  a  strange  double  piece  of  real  myth- 
ology. Many  are  offended  when  told  that  with  the  best 
teaching  of  the  Christian  Church  Gentile  symbolism  and 
story  have  often  mingled.  Some  still  lament  vanished 
dreams  of  the  world's  morning,  echo  the 

"Voice  of  weeping  heard,  and  loud  lament," 

by  woodland  altar  and  sacred  thicket.  But  Lydda  was 
the  city  where  St.  Peter  raised  from  death  to  doubly- 
marvellous  service  that  loved  garment-maker,  full  of 
good  works,  whose  name  was  Wild  Roe — Greek*  type  of 
dawn  with  its  pure  visions.  And  Lydda  "'was  nigh  unto 
Joppa,''  t  where  was  let  down  from  heaven  the  mystic 

*  The  Hebrew  poets,  too,  knew  "  the  Hind  of  the  glow  of  dawn." 
f  Near  Joppa  the  Moslem  (who  also  reverences   St.  George)  sees  the 
field  of  some  great  final  contest  between  the  Evil  und  the  Good,  upon 


160  THE  PLACE  OF  DRAGONS. 

sheet,  full  of  every  kind  of  living  creature,  (this,  centuries 
before,  a  symbol  familiar  to  the  farthest  east,  *)  for  last- 
ing witness  to  the  faithful  that  through  his  travailing 
creation  God  has  appointed  all  things  to  be  helpful  and 
holy  to  man,  has  made  nothing  common  or  unclean. 

There  is  a  large  body  of  further  evidence  proving  the 
origin  of  the  story  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon  from 
that  of  Perseus.  The  names  of  certain  of  the  persons 
concerned  in  both  coincide.  Secondary,  or  later  varia- 
tions in  the  place  of  the  fight  appear  alike  inboth  legends. 
For  example,  the  scene  of  both  is  sometimes  laid  in 
Phoenicia,  north  of  Joppa.  But  concerning  this  we  may 
note  that  a  mythologist  of  the  age  of  Augustus.f  recount- 
ing this  legend,  is  careful  to  explain  that  the  name  of 
Joppa  had  since  been  changed  to  Phoenice.  The  instance 
of  most  value,  however — because  connected  with  a  sin- 
gular identity  of  local  names — is  that  account  which  takes 
both  Perseus  and  St.  George  to  the  Nile  delta.  The 
Greek  name  of  Lydda  was  Diospolis.  Now  St.  Jerome 
speaks  strangely  of  Alexandria  as  also  called  Diospolis, 
and  there  certainly  was  a  Diospolis  (later  Lydda)  near 
Alexandria,  where  "  alone  in  Egypt,"  Strabo  tells  us, 
"  men  did  not  venerate  the  crocodile,  but  held  it  in  dis- 
honour as  most  hateful  of  living  things."  One  of  the 
"  Crocodile  towns  "  of  Egypt  was  close  by  this.  Curiously 
enough,  considering  the  locality,  there  was  also  a  "  Croco- 
dile-town "  a  short  distance  north  of  Joppa.  In  Thebes, 

« 

whom  the  ends  of  the  world  shall  have  come — a  contest  surely  that 
will  require  the  presence  of  our  warrior-marshal. 

*  Compare  the  illustrations  on  p.  44  of  Didron's  "  Iccnographie 
Chretienne  "  (English  translation,  p.  41). 

f  Conon.  Narr.,  XL.  . 


THE  PLACE   OF  DEACONS.  161 

too,  the  greater  Diospolis,  there  was  a  shrine  of  Perseus, 
and  near  it  another  Kponod£i\oov  Ilohis.  This  persistent 
recurrence  of  the  name  Diospolis  probably  points  to 
Perseus'  original  identity  with  the  sun — noblest  birth  of 
the  Father  of  Lights.  In  its  Greek  form  that  name  was, 
of  course,  of  comparatively  late  imposition,  but  we  may 
well  conceive  it  to  have  had  reference*  to  a  local  termi- 
nology and  worship  much  more  ancient.  It  is  not  un- 
reasonable to  connect  too  the  Diospolis  of  Cappadocia,  a 
region  so  frequently  and  mysteriously  referred  to  as  that 
of  St.  George's  birth. 

Further,  the  stories  both  of  Perseus  and  of  St.  George 
are  curiously  connected  with  the  Persians ;  but  this 
matter,  together  with  the  saint's  Cappadocian  nationality, 
will  fall  to  be  considered  in  relation  to  a  figure  in  the  last 
of  Carpaccio's  three  pictures,  which  will  open  up  to  us 
the  earliest  history  and  deepest  meaning  of  the  myth. 

The  stories  of  the  fight  given  by  Greeks  and  Christians 
are  almost  identical.  There  is  scarcely  an  incident  in  it 
told  bygone  set  of  writers  but  occurs  in  the  account  mven 

*/  o 

by  some  member  or  members  of  the  other  set,  even  to  the 
crowd  of  distant  spectators  Carpaccio  has  so  dwelt  upon, 
and  to  the  votive  altars  raised  above  the  body  of  the  mon- 
ster, with  the  stream  of  healing  that  flowed  beside  them. 
And  while  both  accounts  say  how  the  saved  nations  ren- 
dered thanks  to  the  Father  in  heaven,  we  are  told  that  the 
heathen  placed,  beside  His  altar,  altars  to  the  Maiden 
Wisdom  and  to  Hermes,  while  the  Christians  placed  altars 
dedicated  to  the  Maiden  Mother  and  to  George.  Even 
Medusa's  head  did  not  come  amiss  to  the  mediaeval  artist, 
but  set  in  the  saint's  hand  became  his  own,  fit  indication 
*  Compare  the  name  Heliopolis  given  both  to  Baalbeck  and  On- 


162  THE  PLACE   OF  DRAGONS. 

of  the  death  by  which  he  should  afterwards  glorify  God* 
And  here  we  may  probably  trace  the  original  error — if, 
indeed,  to  be  called  an  error — by  which  the  myth  concern- 
ing Perseus  was  introduced  into  the  story  of  our  soldier- 
saint  of  the  East.  From  the  fifth  century  to  the  fifteenth, 
mythologists  nearly  all  give,  and  usually  with  approval, 
an  interpretation  of  the  word  "  gorgon  "  which  makes 
it  identical  in  meaning  and  derivation  with  "  George." 
When  comparatively  learned  persons,  taught  too  in  this 
special  subject,  accepted  such  an  opinion  and  insisted  upon 
it,  we  cannot  be  surprised  if  their  contemporaries,  unedu- 
cated, or  educated  only  in  the  Christian  mysteries,  took 
readily  a  similar  view,  especially  when  we  consider  the 
wild  confusion  in  medieval  minds  concerning  the  spelling 
of  classical  names.  Now  just  as  into  the  legend  of  St. 
Hippolytus  there  was  introduced  a  long  episode  manifest- 
ly derived  from  some  disarranged  and  misunderstood  se- 
ries of-paintings  or  sculptures  concerning  the  fate  of  the 
Greek  Hippolytus, — and  this  is  by  no  means  a  singular 
example,  the  name  inscribed  on  the  work  of  art  being 
taken  as  evidence  that  it  referred  to  the  only  bearer  of 
that  name  then  thought  of — so,  in  all  probability,  it  came 
about  with  St.  George.  People  at  Lydda  far  on  into 
Christian  times  would  know  vaguely,  and  continue  to  tell 
the  story,  how  long  ago  under  that  familiar  cliff  the  drag- 
on was  slain  and  the  royal  maid  released.  Then  some 
ruined  fresco  or  vase  painting  of  the  event  would  exist, 
half  forgotten,  with  the  names  of  the  characters  written 
after  Greek  fashion  near  them,  in  the  usual  superbly  errant 
caligraphy.  The  Gorgon's  name  could  scarcely  fail  to  be 
prominent  in  a  series  of  pictures  from  Perseus'  history, 
or  in  this  scene  as  an  explanation  of  the  head  in  his  hand. 


THE   PLACE  OF  DRAGONS.  163 

A  Christian  pilgrim,  or  hermit,  his  heart  full  of  the  great 
saint,  whose  name  as  "Triumphant"  filled  the  East, 
would,  when  he  had  spelt  out  the  lettering,  at  once  ex- 
claim, "  Ah,  here  is  recorded  another  of  my  patron's  vic- 
tories." The  probability  of  this  is  enhanced  by  the  ap- 
]>r;;rance  in  St.  George's  story  of  names  whose  introduc- 
tion seems  to  require  a  similar  explanation.  But  we  shall 
iiud  that  the  battle  with  the  dragon,  though  not  reckoned 
among  St.  George's  deeds  before  the  eleventh  or  twelfth 
century,  is  entirely  appropriate  to  the  earliest  sources  of 
his  legend. 

One  other  important  parallel  between  Perseus  and  St. 
George  deserves  notice,  though  it  does  not  bear  directly 
upon  these  pictures.  Both  are  distinguished  by  their  bur- 
nished shields.  The  hero's  was  given  him  by  Athena, 
that,  watching  in  it  there  fleeted  figure  of  the  Gorgon,* 
he  might  strike  rightly  with  his  sickle-sword,  nor  need  to 
meet  in  face  the  mortal  horror  of  her  look.  The  saint's 
bright  shield  rallied  once  and  again  a  breaking  host  of 
crusaders,  as  they  seemed  to  see  it  blaze  in  their  van  under 
Amioch  f  wall,  and  by  the  breaches  of  desecrated  Zion. 
But  his  was  a  magic  mirror;  work  of  craftsmen  more 
cunning  than  might  obey  the  Queen  of  Air.  Turned  to 
visions  of  terror  and  death,  it  threw  back  by  law  of  divin- 
er optics  an  altered  image — the  crimson  blazon  of  its 
cross.;);  So  much  for  the  growth  of  the  dragon  legend, 

*  The  allegorising  Platoniate  interpret  Medusa  as  a  symbol  of  man's 
sensual  nature.  This  we  shall  find  to  be  Carpuceio's  view  of  the  dragon 
of  St.  George. 

f  Acts  xi.  26. 

| Compare  the  strange  reappearance  of  the  JEginotan  Athena  as  St. 
John  0:1  the  Florin.  There  the  arm  thai  bore  the  shield  now  with 
pointed  iii igor  gives  emphasis  and  direction  to  the  word  '•  Behold." 


164  THE  PLACE  OF  DEAGONS. 

fragment  of  a  most  ancient  faith,  widely  spread  and  va- 
riously localised,  thus  made  human  by  Greek,  and  passion- 
ately spiritual  by  Christian,  art. 

We  shall  see  later  that  Perseus  is  not  St.  George's  only 
blood-relation  among  the  powers  of  earlier  belief  ;  but  for 
Englishmen  there  mav  be  a  linked  association,  if  more 

O  «/  Jm 

difficult  to  trace  through  historic  descent,  yet,  in  its  per- 
fect harmony,  even  more  pleasantly  strange.  The  great 
heroic  poem  which  remains  to  us  in  the  tongue  of  our 
Anglo-Saxon  ancestors — intuitive  creation  and  honourable 
treasure  for  ever  of  simple  English  minds — tells  of  a  war- 
rior whose  names,  like  St.  George's,  are  "  Husbandman" 
and  "  Glorious,"  whose  crowning  deed  was  done  in  battle 
with  the  poisonous  drake.  Even  a  figure  very  important 
in  St.  George's  history — one  we  shall  meet  in  the  third  of 
these  pictures — is  in  this  legend  not  without  its  represent- 
ative— that  young  kinsman  of  the  Saxon  hero,  "  among 
the  faithless  "  earls  "  faithful  only  he,"  who  holds  before 
the  failing  eyes  of  his  lord  the  long  rusted  helm  and  gol- 
den standard,  "  wondrous  in  the  grasp,"  and  mystic  ves- 
sels of  ancient  time,  treasure  redeemed  at  last  by  a  brave 
man's  blood  from  the  vaulted  cavern  of  the  "  Twilight 
Flyer."  For  Beowulf  indeed  slays  the  monster,  but  wins 
no  princess,  and  dies  of  the  fiery  venom  that  has  scorched 
his  limbs  in  the  contest.  Him  there  awaited  such  fires 
alone — seen  from  their  bleak  promontory  afar  over  nor- 
thern seas — as  burned  once  upon  the  ridge  of  (Eta,  his  the 
Heraklean  crown  of  poplar  leaves  only,  blackened  without 
by  the  smoke  of  hell,  and  on  the  inner  side  washed  white 
with  the  sweat  of  a  labourer's  brow.*  It  is  a  wilder  form 

*  There  was  in  his  People's  long  lament  for  Beowulf  one  word  about 
the  hidden  future,  "when  he  must  go  forth  from  the  body  to  become 


THE  PLACE   OF  DRAGONS.  165 

of  the  great  story  told  by  seers  *  who  knew  only  the  terror 
of  nature  and  the  daily  toil  of  men,  and  the  doom  that  is 
over  these  for  each  of  us.  The  royal  maiden  for  ever  set 
free,  the  sprinkling  of  pure  water  unto  eternal  life,  —  this 
only  such  eyes  may  discern  as  by  happier  fate  have  also 
rested  upon  tables  whose  divine  blazon  is  the  law  of 
heaven  ;  such  hearts  alone  conceive,  as,  trained  in  some 
holy  city  of  God,  have  among  the  spirits  of  just  men 
made  perfect,  learned  to  love  His  commandment. 

Such,  then,  was  the  venerable  belief  which  Carpaccio 
set  himself  to  picture  in  the  Chapel  of  St.  George.  How 
far  he  knew  its  wide  reign  and  ancient  descent,  or  how 
far,  without  recognising  these,  he  intuitively  acted  as  the 
knowledge  would  have  led  him,  and  was  conscious  of 
lighting  up  his  work  by  Gentile  learning  and  symbolism, 
must  to  us  be  doubtful.  It  is  not  doubtful  that,  whether 
with  open  eyes,  or  in  simple  obedience  to  the  traditions 
of  his  training,  or,  as  is  most  likely,  loyal  as  well  in  wis- 
dom as  in  humility,  he  did  so  illumine  it,  and  very  glo- 
riously. But  painting  this  glory,  he  paints  with  it  the 


.  .  .  .  "     What  to  iKX'ome  we  shall  not  know,  for  fate  has  struck  out 
just  the  four  letters  that  would  have  told  us. 

*  "  Beowulf  ''  was  probably  composed  by  a  poet  nearly  contemporary 
witli  liede.  The  dragon  victory  was  not  yet  added  to  the  glories  of  St. 
George.  Indeed,  Pope  Gelasiiis,  in  Council,  morethana  couple  of  cent- 
uries before,  had  declared  him  to  be  one  of  those  saints  "  whose  names 
are  ju>!ly  revered  among  men,  but  whose  deeds  are  known  to  God 
only."  Accordingly  the  Saxon  teacher  invokes  him  somewhat  vaguely 
thus  :  — 

"  Invicto  mundum  qui  sanguine  temnis' 
Infinita  refers,  Georgi  Sanete,  tropham  !  " 

Yet   'veil   in  these  words  we  see  a  revereiiee  similar  to  Carpaccio's  for 
itge  as  patron  of  purity.     And  the  deeds  "known  to  Godalone" 
were  in  His  good  time  revealed  to  those  to  whom  it  pleased  Him. 


166  THE    PLACE    OF   DEAGONS. 

peace  that  over  the  king-threatened  cradle  of  another 
Prince  than  Perseus,  was  proclaimed  to  tha  heavy-laden. 

The  first  picture  on  the  left  hand  as  we  enter  the  chapel 
shows  St.  George  on  horseback,  in  battle  with  the  Dragon, 
Other  artists,  even  Tintoret,*  are  of  opinion  that  the  Saint 
rode  a  white  horse.  The  champion  of  Purity  must,  they 
hold,  have  been  carried  to  victory  by  a  charger  ethereal 
and  splendid  as  a  summer  cloud.  Carpaccio  believed  that 
his  horse  was  a  dark  brown.  He  knew  that  this  colour  is 
generally  the  mark  of  greatest  strength  and  endurance ; 
he  had  no  wish  to  paint  here  an  ascetic's  victory  over  the 
flesh.  St.  George's  warring  is  in  the  \vorld,  and  for  it ; 
he  is  the  enemy  of  its  desolation,  the  guardian  of  its 
peace ;  and  all  vital  force  of  the  lower  Nature  he  shall 
have  to  bear  him  into  battle;  submissive  indeed  to  the 
spur,  bitted  and  bridled  for  obedience,  yet  honourably 
decked  with  trappings  whose  studs  and  bosses  are  fair  car- 
ven  faces.  But  though  of  colour  prosaically  useful;  this 
horse  has  a  deeper  kinship  with  the  air.  Many  of  the 
ancient  histories  and  vase-paintings  tell  us  that  Perseus, 
when  he  saved  Andromeda,  was  mounted  on  Pegasus. 
Look  now  here  at  the  mane  and  tail,  swept  still  back  upon 
the  wind,  though  already  the  passionate  onset  has  been 
brought  to  sudden  pause  in  that  crash  of  encounter. 
Though  the  flash  of  an  earthly  fire  be  in  his  eye,  its  force 
in  his  limbs — though  the  clothing  of  his  neck  be  Chtho- 
nian  thunder — this  steed  is  brother,  too,  to  that  one,  born 
by  farthest  ocean  wells,  whose  wild  mane  and  sweeping 
wings  stretch  through  the  firmament  as  light  is  breaking 
over  earth.  More  ;  these  masses  of  billowy  hair  tossed 
upon  the  breeze  of  heaven  are  set  here  for  a  sign  that 
*  In  the  ante-chapel  of  the  Ducal  Palace. 


THE   PLACE   OF   DRAGONS.  167 

this,  though  but  one  of  the  beasts  that  perish,  has  the 
roots  of  his  strong  nature  in  the  power  of  heavenly  life, 
and  is  now  about  His  business  who  is  Lord  of  heaven  and 
Father  of  men.  The  horse  is  thus,  as  we  shall  see,  op- 
posed to  certain  other  signs,  meant  for  our  learning,  in 
the  dream  of  horror  round  this  monster's  den.* 

St.  George,  armed  to  his  throat,  sits  firmly  in  the  sad- 
dle. All  the  skill  gained  in  a  chivalric  youth,  all  the 
might  of  a  soldier's  manhood,  he  summons  for  this  strange 
tourney,  stooping  slightly  and  gathering  his  strength  as 
he  drives  the  spear-point  straight  between  his  enemy's 
jaws.  His  face  is  very  fair,  at  once  delicate  and  power- 
ful, well-bred  in  the  fullest  bearing  of  the  words  ;  a  Plan- 
tagenet  face  in  general  type,  but  much  refined.  The 
lower  lip  is  pressed  upwards,  the  brow  knit,  in  anger  and 
disgust  partly,  but  more  in  care — and  care  not  so  much 
concerning  the  fight's  ending,  as  that  this  thrust  in  it  shall 
now  be  rightly  dealt.  His  hair  flows  in  bright  golden 
ripples,  strong  as  those  of  a  great  spring  whose  up-welling 
waters  circle  through  some  clear  pool,  but  it  breaks  at  last 
to  float  over  brow  and  shoulders  in  tendrils  of  living 
light.f  Had  Carpaccio  been  aware  that  St.  George  and 
Perseus  are,  in  this  deed,  one;  had  he  even  held,  as  surely 
as  Profe— <>r  Muller  finds  reason  to  do,  that  at  first  Per- 
seus was  but  the  sun  in  his  strength — for  very  name,  be- 
ing called  the  "Brightly-Burning" — thi3  glorious  head 
could  not  have  been,  more  completely  than  it  is,  made  the 

*  This  cloudlike  effect  is  through  surface  rubbing  perhaps  more 
marked  now  than  Carpaccio  intended,  but  must  always  have  been  most 
noticeable.  Il  produces  a  very  striking  re-niihlaiicc  to  the  Pegasus  or 
(he  IJani  of  I'lirixus  011  (ireek  vases. 

f  At  his  martyrdom  fc>t.  George  was  luiog  up  by  his  hair  to  be 
scourged. 


168  THE  PLACE   OF  DKAGONS. 

centre  of  light  in  the  picture.  In  Greek  works  of  art,  as 
a  rule,  Perseus,  when  he  rescues  Andromeda,  continues  to 
wear  the  peaked  Phrygian  cap,  dark  helmet  of  Hades,* 
by  whose  virtue  he  moved, » invisible,  upon  Medusa 
through  coiling  mists  of  dawn.  Only  after  victory  might 
he  unveil  his  brightness.  But  about  George  from  the 
first  is  110  shadow.  Creeping  thing  of  keenest  eye  shall 
not  see  that  splendour  which  is  so  manifest,  nor  with 
guile  spring  upon  it  unaware,  to  its  darkening.  Such 
knowledge  alone  for  the  dragon — dim  sense  as  of  a  horse 
with  its  rider,  moving  to  the  fatal  lair,  hope,  pulseless, — 
not  of  heart,  but  of  talon  and  maw — that  here  is  yet 
another  victim,  then  only  between  his  teeth  that  keen 
lance-point,  thrust  far  "before  the  Holy  Apparition  at 
whose  rising  the  Power  of  the  Vision  of  Death  waxes 
faint  and  drops  those  terrible  wings  that  bore  under  their 
shadow,  not  healing,  but  wounds  for  men. 

The  spear  pierces  the  base  of  the  dragon's  brain,  its 
point  penetrating  right  through  and  standing  out  at  the 
back  of  the  head  just  above  its  junction  with  the  spine. 
The  shaft  breaks  in  the  shock  between  the  dragon's  jaws. 
This  shivering  of  St.  George's  spear  is  almost  always  em- 
phasized in  pictures  of  him — sometimes,  as  here,  in  act, 
oftener  by  position  of  the  splintered  fragments  prominent 
in  the  foreground.  This  is  no  tradition  of  ancient  art, 
but  a  purely  mediaeval  incident,  yet  not,  I  believe,  merely 
the  vacant  reproduction  of  a  sight  become  familiar  to  the 
spectator  of  tournaments.  The  spear  was  type  of  the 
strength  of  human  wisdom.  This  checks  the  enemy  in 
his  attack,  subdues  him  partly,  yet  is  shattered,  having 
done  so  much,  and  of  no  help  in  perfecting  the  victory  or 
*  Given  by  Hermes  (Chthouios). 


THE  PLACE  OF   DRAGONS.  169 

in  reaping  its  reward  of  joy.  But  at  the  Saint's  "  loins, 
girt  about  with  truth,"  there  hangs  his  holier  weapon  — 
the  Sword  of  the  Spirit,  which  is  the  "Word  of  God. 

The  Dragon  "::"  is  bearded  like  a  gout,f  and  essentially  a 
thorny  ^  creature.  Every  ridge  of  his  body,  wings,  and 
head,  bristles  with  long  spines,  keen,  sword-like,  of  an 
earthy  brown  colour  or  poisonous  green.  But  the  most 
truculent-looking  of  all  is  a  short,  strong,  hooked  one  at 
the  back  of  his  head,  close  to  where  the  spear-point  pro- 
trudes.§  These  thorns  are  partly  the  same  vision  —  though 
seen  with  even  clearer  eyes,  dreamed  by  a  heart  yet  more 
tender  —  as  Spenser  snw  in  the  troop  of  urchins  coming  up 
with  the  host  of  other  lusts  against  the  Castle  of  Temper- 
ance. They  are  also  symbolic  as  weeds  whose  deadly 
growth  brings  the  power  of  earth  to  waste  and  chokes  its 
good.  These  our  Lord  of  spiritual  husbandmen  must  for 
preliminary  task  destroy.  The  agricultural  process  con- 
sequent on  this  first  step  in  tillage  we  shall  see  in  the  next 
picture,  whose  subject  is  the  triumph  of  the  ploughshare 
sword,  as  the  subject  of  this  one  is  the  triumph  of  the 
pruning  hook  spear.  ||  To  an  Italian  of  Carpaccio's  time, 
further,  spines  —  etyinologically  connected  in  Greek  and 

*  It  should  be  noticed  tbat  St.  George's  dragon  is  never  human-bead- 
ed, as  often  St.  Michael's. 

f  So  tin-  Tin  bun  dragon  on  a  vase,  to  be  afterwards  referral  to. 

fTlie  following  are  Lucian's  words  concerning  ihe  monster  slain  by 
Perseus,  "  Kal  TO  fttr  £rt£i6i  ni  (pptxoS  ra/5  anavfimS  ual  dedirro- 


£  I  do  not  know  the  meaning  of  this  here.  It  bears  a  striking  resem- 
blance to  thr  (rests  of  the  dragon  of  Triptolemus  on  vases.  These 
crests  signify  primarily  the  springing  blade  of  corn.  That,  here,  has 
become  like  iron. 

I  For  "  priming-hooks"  in  our  version,  the  Vulgate  reads  "ligoncs" 
—  tools  for  preparatory  clearance. 
8 


170  THE  PLACE  OF  DRAGONS. 

Latin,  as  in  English,  with  the  backbone — were  an  ac- 
knowledged symbol  of  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  whose  defeat 
the  artist  has  here  set  himself  to  paint.  The  mighty  coil- 
ing tail,  as  of  a  giant  eel,*  carries  out  the  portraiture.  For 
this,  loathsome  as  the  body  is  full  of  horror,  takes  the 
place  of  the  snails  ranked  by  Spenser  in  line  beside  his 
urchins.  Though  the  monster,  half-rampant,  rises  into 
air,  turning  claw  and  spike  and  tooth  towards  St.  George, 
we  are  taught  by  this  grey  abomination  twisting  in  the 
slime  of  death  that  the  threatened  destruction  is  to  be 
dreaded  not  more  for  its  horror  than  for  its  shame. 

Behind  the  dragon  lie,  naked,  with  dead  faces  turned 
heavenwards,  two  corpses — a  youth's  and  a  girl's,  eaten 
away  from  the  feet  to  the  middle,  the  flesh  hanging  at  the 
waist  in  loathsome  rags  torn  by  the  monster's  teeth.  The 
man's  thigh  and  upper-arm  bones  snapped  across  and 
sucked  empty  of  marrow,  are  turned  to  us  for  special  sign 
of  this  destroyer's  power.  The  face,  foreshortened,  is 
drawn  by  death  and  decay  into  the  ghastly  likeness  of  an 
ape's.f  The  girl's  face — seen  in  profile — is  quiet  and  still 
beautiful ;  her  long  hair  is  heaped  as  for  a  pillow  under 

*  The  eel  was  Venus'  selected  beast- shape  in  the  "Flight  of  the 
Gods."  Boccaccio  has  enlarged  upon  the  significance  of  this.  Gen. 
Deor.  IV.  68.  One  learns  from  other  sources  that  a  tail  was  often  sym- 
bol of  sensuality. 

f  In  the  great  Botticelli  of  the  National  Gallery,  known  as  Mars  and 
Venus,  but  almost  identical  with  the  picture  drawn  afterwards  by  Spen- 
ser of  the  Bower  of  Acrasia,  the  sleeping  youth  wears  an  expression, 
though  less  strongly  marked,  very  similar  to  that  of  this  dead  face  here. 
Such  brutish  paralysis  is  with  scientific  accuracy  made  special  to  the 
male.  It  may  be  noticed  that  the  power  of  venomously  wounding,  ex- 
pressed by  Carpaccio  through  the  dragon's  spines,  is  in  the  Botticelli 
signified  by  the  swarm  of  hornets  issuing  from  the  tree-trunk  by  the 
young  man's  head. 


THE  PLACE   OF  DRAGONS.  171 

her  head.  It  does  not  grow  like  St.  George's,  in  living 
ripples,  but  lies  in  fantastic  folds,  that  have  about  them  a 
savour,  riot  of  death  only,  but  of  corruption.  For  all  its 
pale  gold  they  at  once  carry  back  one's  mind  to  Turner's 
Pytho,  where  the  arrow  of  Apollo  strikes  him  in  the 
midst,  and,  piercing,  reveals  his  foulness.  Round  her 
throat  cling  a  few  torn  rags,  these  only  remaining  of  the 
white  garment,  that  clothed  her  once.  Carpaccio  was  a 
diligent  student  of  ancient  mythology.  Boccaccio's  very 
learned  book  on  the  Gods  was  the  standard  classical  dic- 
tionary of  those  days  in  Italy.  It  tells  us  how  the  Cyp- 
rian  Venus — a  mortal  princess  in  reality,  Boccaccio  holds 
— to  cover  her  own  disgrace  led  the  maidens  of  her  coun- 
try to  the  sea-sands,  and,  stripping  them  there,  tempted 
them  to  follow  her  in  shame.  I  suspect  Carpaccio  had 
this  story  in  his  mind,  and  meant  here  to  reveal  in  true 
dragon  aspect  the  Venus  that  once  seemed  fair,  to  show 
by  this  shore  the  fate  of  them  that  follow  her.  It  is  to  be 
noticed  that  the  dead  man  is  an  addition  made  by  Carpac- 
cio to  the  old  story.  Maidens  of  the  people,  the  legend- 
writers  knew,  had  been  sacrificed  before  the  Princess ; 
but  only  he,  filling  the  tale — like  a  cup  of  his  country's 
fairly  fashioned  glass — full  of  the  wine  of  profitable  teach- 
ing, is  aware  that  men  have  often  come  to  these  yellow 
sands  to  join  there  in  the  dance  of  death — not  only,  nor 
once  for  all,  this  Saint  who  clasped  hands  with  Victory. 
Two  ships  in  the  distance — one  stranded,  with  rigging 
rent  or  fallen,  the  other  moving  prosperously  with  full 
sails  on  its  course — symbolically  repeat  this  thought.* 

Frogs  clamber  about  the  corpse  of  the   man,  lizards 
about  the  woman.     Indeed  for  shells  and  creeping  things 
*  "The  many  fail,  the  one  succeeds." 


172  THE  PLACE   OF  DKAGONS. 

this  place  where  strangers  lie  slain  and  un  buried  would 
have  been  to  the  good  Palissy  a  veritable  and  valued  pot- 
ter's field.  But  to  every  one  of  these  cold  and  scaly  creat- 
ures a  special  symbolism  was  attached  by  the  science  — 
not  unwisely  dreaming  —  of  Carpaccio's  day.  They  are, 
each  one,  paintedjiere  to  amplify  and  press  home  the  pict- 
ure's teaching.  These  lizards  are  born  of  a  dead  man's 
flesh,  these  snakes  of  his  marrow  :  *  and  adders,  the  most 
venomo.us,  are  still  only  lizards  ripened  witheringly  from 
loathsome  flower  into  poisonous  fruit.  The  frogs  f  —  sym- 
bols, Pierius  tells  us,  of  imperfection  and  shamelessness  — 
are  in  transfigured  form  those  Lycian  husbandmen  whose 
foul  words  mocked  Latona,  whose  feet  defiled  the  wells  of 
water  she  thirsted  for,  as  the  veiled  mother  painfully  jour- 
neyed with  those  two  babes  on  her  arm,  of  whom  one 
should  be  Queen  of  Maidenhood,  the  other,  Lord  of  Light, 
and  Guardian  of  the  Ways  of  Men.  J  This  subtle  associ- 
ation between  batrachians  and  love  declining  to  sense  lay 
very  deep  in  the  Italian  mind.  In  "Ariadne  Florentina" 
there  are  two  engravings  from  Botticelli  of  Venus,  as  a 
star  floating  through  heaven  and  as  foam-born  rising  from 
the  sea.  Both  pictures  are  most  subtly  beautiful,  yet  in 
the  former  the  lizard  likeness  shows  itself  distinctly  in 
the  face,  and  a  lizard's  tail  appears  in  manifest  form  as 
pendulous  crest  of  the  chariot,  while  in  the  latter  not  only 
contours  of  profile  and  back,  §  but  the  selected  attitude  of 

*  "  The  silver  cord  "  not  "  loosed  "  in  God's  peace,  but  thus  devilish- 
ly quickened. 

f  Compare  the  "  unclean  spirits  come  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  drag- 
on," in  Revelation. 


§  Compare  the  account  of  the  Frog's  hump,  "Ariadne  Florentina," 
p.  93. 


THE  PLACE   OF  DBAGONS.  173 

the  goddess,  bent  and  half  emergent,  with  hand  resting 
not  over  firmly  upon  the  level  shore,  irresistibly  recall  a 
frog. 

In  the  foreground,  between  St.  George  and  the  Dragon, 
a  spotted  lizard  labours  at  the  task  set  Sisyphus  in  hell  for 
ever.  Sisyphus,  the  cold-hearted  and  shifty  son  of 
^Eolus,*  stained  in  life  by  nameless  lust,  received  his 
mocking  doom  of  toil,  partly  for  his  treachery — -winning 
this  only  in  the  end, — partly  because  he  opposed  the 
divine  conception  of  the  ^Eacid  race;,  but  above  all,  as 
penalty  for  the  attempt  to  elude  the  fate  of  death  "that 
is  appointed  alike  for  all,"  by  refusal  for  his  own  body  of 
that  "  sowing  in  corruption,"  against  which  a  deeper  fur- 
row is  prepared  by. .the  last  of  husbandmen  with  whose 
labour  each  of  us  has  on  earth  to  do.  Then,  finding  that 
Carpaccio  has  had  in  his  mind  one  scene  of  Tartarus,  we 
may  believe  the  corpse  in  the  background,  torn  by  carrion- 
birds,  to  be  not  merely  a  meaningless  incident  of  horror, 
but  a  reminiscence  of  enduring  punishment  avenging 
upon  Tityus  f  the  insulted  purity  of  Artemis.  \ 

The  coiled  adder  is  the  familiar  symbol  of  eternity, 
here  meant  either  to  seal  for  the  defeated  their  fate  as 
final,  or  to  hint,  with  something  of  Turner's  sadness,  that 
this  is  a  battle  not  gained  "once  for  ever  "  and  "  for  all," 
but  to  be  fought  anew  by  every  son  of  man,  while,  for 
each,  defeat  shall  be  deadly,  and  victory  still  most  hard, 
though  an  armed  Angel  of  the  Victory  of  God  be  our 

*  Compare  Pindar's  use  of  a/o'A.o?  as  a  fit  adjective  for  iftsvdoS,  Nem 

viii.  4:!. 

f  "Terra-  oinniparentis  alumnum." 

|  Or.  as  tin-  -lory  is  <>iln>r\vUr  ^iv<-n,  of  the  mother  of  Artemis,  as  in 
the  case  ui'  the  Lycian  peasants  above. 


174  THE  PLACE   OF  DKAGONS. 

marshal  and  leader  in  the  contest.  A  further  comparison 
with  Turner  is  suggested  by  the  horse's  skull  between  us 
and  Saint  George.  A  similar  skeleton  is  prominent  in 
the  corresponding  part  of  the  foreground  in  the  "  Jason  " 
of  the  Liber  Studiorum.  But  Jason  clambers  to  victory 
on  foot,  allows  no  charger  to  bear  him  in  the  fight.  Tur- 
ner, more  an  antique  *  Hellene  than  a  Christian  prophet, 
had,  as  all  the  greatest  among  the  Greeks,  neither  vision 
nor  hope  of  any  more  perfect  union  between  lower  and 
higher  nature  by  wThich  that  inferior  creation,  groaning 
now  with  us  in  pain,  should  cease  to  be  type  of  the  mor- 
tal element,  which  seems  to  shame  our  soul  as  basing  it  in 
clay,  and,  with  that  element,  become  a  temple-platform, 
lifting  man's  life  towards  heaven. f 

With  Turner's  adder,  too,  springing  immortal  from  the 
Python's  wound,  we  cannot  but  connect  this  other  adder 
of  Carpaccio's,  issuing  from  the  white  skull  of  a  great 
snake.  Adders,  according  to  an  old  fancy,  were  born 
from  the  jaws  of  their  living  mother.  Supernatural  hor- 
ror attaches  to  this  symbolic  one,  wrrithing  out  from  be- 
tween the  teeth  of  that  ophidian  death's-head.  And  the 
plague,  not  }Tet  fully  come  forth,  but  already  about  its 
father's  business,  venomously  fastens  on  a  frog,  type  of 

*  Hamlet,  V.  ii.  352. 

f  Pegasus  and  the  immortal  horses  of  Achilles,  born  like  Pegasus  by 
the  ocean  wells,  are  always  to  be  recognized  as  spiritual  creatures,  not 
— as  St.  George's  horse  here — earthly  creatures,  though  serving  and 
manifesting  divine  power.  Compare  too  the  fate  of  Argus  (Homer,  Od., 
XVII.)  In  the  great  Greek  philosophies,  similarly,  we  find  a  realm  of 
formless  shadow  eternally  unconquered  by  sacred  order,  offering  a  con- 
trast to  the  modern  systems  which  aim  at  a  unity  to  be  reached,  if  not 
by  reason,  at  least  by  what  one  may  not  inaccurately  call  an  act  of 
faith. 


THE   PLACE   OF   DRAGONS.  175 

the  sinner  whose  degradation  is  but  the  beginning  of 
punishment.  So  soon  the  worm  that  dies  not  is  also  upon 
him — in  its  fang  Circean  poison  to  make  the  victim  one 
with  his  plague,  as  in  that  terrible  circle  those,  afflicted, 
whom  "vita  bestial  piacque  e  non  Immana." 

Two  spiral  shells  *  lie  on  the  sand,  in  shape  related  to 
each  other  as  frog  to  lizard,  or  as  Spenser's  urchins,  spoken 
of  above,  to  his  snails.  One  is  round  and  short,  with 
smooth  viscous-looking  lip,  turned  over,  and  lying  towards 
the  spectator.  The  other  is  finer  in  form,  and  of  a  kind 
noticeable  for  its  rows  of  delicate  spines.  But,  since  the 
dweller  in  this  one  died,  the  waves  of  many  a  long-fallen 
tide  rolling  on  the  shingle  have  worn  it  almost  smooth,  as 
you  may  see  its  fellows  to-day  by  hundreds  along  Lido 
shore.*  Xow  such  shells  were,  through  heathen  ages  in- 
numerable and  over  many  lauds,  holy  things,  because  of 
their  whorls  moving  from  left  to  rightf  in  some  mysteri- 
ous sympathy,  it  seemed,  with  the  sun  in  his  daily  course 
through  heaven.  Then  as  the  open  clam-shell  was  special 
symbol  of  Venus,  so  these  became  of  the  Syrian  Venus, 
Ashtaroth,  Ephcsian  Artemis,  .queen,  not  of  purity  but,  of 
abundance,  Mylitta,  ;/rz?  TTOT'  f/rrifjthe  many  named  and 
widely  worshipped 4  In  Syrian  figures  still  existing  she 
bears  just  such  a  shell  in  her  hand.  Later  writers,  with 
whom  the  source  of  this  symbolism  was  forgotten,  ac- 
counted for  it,  partly  by  imaginative  instinct,  partly  by 

*0vid  associates  shells  with  the  enemy  of  Andromeda,  but  regarding 

il  a-  ;i  very  ancient  and  fishlike  monster,  plants  them  on  its  back — 
"turi'.'i  c.-ivis  «u]KT  nbsita  i-diichis."—  Or.  Mtt..  IV.  701.. 

f  In  India,  for  the  same  reason,  one  of  the  leading  marks  of  the 
Buddha's  perfection  w;is  his  hair,  thus  spiral. 

f  Compare  the  curious  tale  about  the  Eeheneis.  Pliny,  Hist.  Nat., 
IX.  25.  •'  De  echeneidc  ej  usque  natura  mirabili." 


176  THE   PLACE   OF  DRAGONS. 

fanciful  invention  concerning  the  nature  and  way  of  life 
of  these  creatures.  But  there  is  here  yet  a  further  refer- 
ence, since  from  such  shells  along  the  Syrian  coast  was 
crushed  out,  sea-purple  and  scarlet,  the  juice  of  the  Tyrian 
dye.  And  the  power  of  sensual  delight  throned  in  the 
chief  places  of  each  merchant  city,  decked  her  "  stately 
bed  "  with  coverings  whose  tincture  was  the  stain  of  that 
baptism.*  The  shells  are  empty  now,  devoured — lizards 
on  land  or  sea-shore  are  ever  to  such  "  inimicissinmm 
genus"  f — or  wasted  in  the  deep.  For  the  ripples  J  that 
have  thrown  and  left  them  on  the  sand  are  a  type  of  the 
lusts  of  men,  that  leap  up  from  the  abyss,  surge  over  the 
shore  of  life,  and  fall  in  swift  ebb,  leaving  desolation  be- 
hind. 

Near  the  coiled  adder  is  planted  a  withered  «hnman 
head.  The  sinews  and  skin  of  the  neck  spread,  and  clasp 
the  ground — as  a  zoophyte  does  its  rock — in  hideous  mim- 
icry of  an  old  tree's  knotted  roots.  Two  feet  and  legs, 
torn  oil  by  the  knee,  lean  on  this  head,  one  against  the 
brow  and  the  other  behind.  The  scalp  is  bare  and  with- 
ered. These  things  catch  one's  eye  on  the  first  glance  at 
the  picture,  and  though  so  painful  are  made  thus  prom- 
inent as  giving  the  key  to  a  large  part  of  its  symbolism. 
Later  Platonists — and  among  them  those  of  the  fifteenth 
century — developed  from  certain  texts  in  the  Timjeus  §  a 
doctrine  concerning  the  mystical  meaning  of  hair,  which 

*  The  purple  of  Lydda  was  famous.  Compare  Pors  Clavigera,  April, 
1876,  p.  2, -and  Deucalion,  §  39. 

f  Pliny,  Hist.  Xat.,  VIII.  39. 

J  Under  the  name  of  Salacia  and  Venilia.  See  St.  August.,  Civ.  Dei, 
VII.  22. 

§  Plato,  Tim.,  75,  76. 


THE  PLACE   OF  DRAGONS.  177 

coincides  with  its  significance  to  the  vision  of  early  (pre- 
Platonic)  ti  reeks.  As  a  tree  lias  its  roots  in  earth,  and 
set  thus,  must  patiently  ahide,  bearing  sucU  fruit  as  the 
laws  of  nature  may  appoint,  so  man,  being  of  other  fami- 
ly— these  dreamers  belonged  to  a  very  "pro-scientific 
epoch''— has  his  roots  in  heaven,  and  has  the  power  of 
moving  to  and  fro  over  the  earth  for  service  to  the  Law 
of  Heaven,  and  as  sign  of  his  free  descent.  Of  these 
diviner  roots  the  hair  is  visible  type.  Plato  tells  us,*  that 
of  innocent,  light-hearted  men,  "  whose  thoughts  were 
turned  heavenward,"  but  "  who  imagined  in  their  sim- 
plicity that  the  clearest  demonstration  of  things  above 
was  to  be  obtained  by  sight"  the  race  of  birds  had  being, 
by  change  of  external  shape  into  due  harmony  with  tho 
soul  ("  j.t£T£ppi>0/ti2£T<)  ") — such  persons  growing  feathers 
instead  of  hair. f  We  have  in  Dante. J  too,  an  inversion 
of  tree  nature  parallel  to  that  of  the  head  here.  The 
tree,  with  roots  in  air,  whose  sweet  fruit  is,  in  Purgatory, 
alternately,  to  gluttonous  souls,  temptation,  and  purifying 
punishment — watered,  Landino  interprets,  by  the  descend- 
ing spray  of  Lethe — signifies  that  these  souls  have  forgot- 
ten the  source  and  limits  of  earthly  pleasure,  seeking 
vainly  in  it  satisfaction  for  the  hungry  and  immortal 
spirit.  So  here,  this  blackened  head  of  the  sensual  sinner 
is  rooted  to  earth,  the  sign  of  >tivngth  drawn  from  above 
is  stripped  from  oft' it,  and  beside  it  on  the  sand  are  laid, 
as  in  hideous  mockery,  the  feet  that  might  have  been 

*Plato,  Tim.,  01.  I).  K. 

f  The  most  devoid  of  wisdom  were  stretched  on  earth,  becoming  foot- 
less and  crci'pin.if  things,  or  sunk  us  fish  in  tin-  sea.  So,  we  saw  Venus' 
chosen  transmigration  WM  into  tin;  form  of.  an  eel — other  authorities 
say,  of  a  fish. 

t  Dante,  Pur-.,  XXII.,  XXIII. 
8* 


178  THE   PLACE   OF  DRAGONS 

beautiful  upon  the  mountains.  Think  of  the  woman's  body 
beyond,  and  then  of  this  head — "  instead  of  'a  girdle,  a 
rent ;  arid  instead  of  well-set  hair,  baldness."  The  worm's 
brethren,  the  Dragon's  elect,  wear  such  shameful  tonsure, 
unencircled  by  the  symbolic  crown ;  prodigal  of  life, 
"  risurgeranno,"  from  no  quiet  grave,  but  from  this  haunt 
of  horror,  "  co  crin  mozzi  "  — in  piteous  witness  of  wealth 
ruinously  cast  away.  Then  compare,  in  light  of  the  quo- 
tation from  Plato  above,  the  dragon's  thorny  plumage ; 
compare,  too,  the  charger's  mane  and  tail,  and  the  rippling 
glory  that  crowns  St.  George.  It  is  worth  while,  too,  to 
have  in  mind  the  words  of  the  "  black  cherub  "  that  had 
overheard  the  treacherous  counsel  of  Guido  de  Montefel- 
tro.  From  the  moment  it  was  uttered,  to  that  of  the  sin- 
ner's death,  the  evil  spirit  says,  "  stato  gli  sono  a  crini "  f 
— lord  of  his  late.  Further,  in  a  Venetian  series  of  en- 
gravings illustrating  Dante  (published  1491),  the  fire- 
breathings  of  the  Dragon  on  Cacus'  shoulders  transform, 
themselves  into  the  Centaur's  femininely  flowing  hair,  to 
signify  the  inspiration  of  his  forceful  fraud."  This  "  power 
on  his  head"  he  lias  because  of  su'ch  an  angel. j  When 
we  consider  the  Princess  we  shall  find  this  symbolism 
yet  further  carried,  but  just  now  have  to  notice  how 
the  closely  connected  franchise  of  graceful  motion,  lost 
to  those  dishonoured  ones,  is  marked  by  the  most  care- 
fully-painted bones  lying  on  the  left — a  thigh-bone  dis- 
located from  that  of  the  hip,  and  then  thrust  through  it. 
Curiously,  too,  such  dislocation  would  in  life  produce 
a  hump,  mimicking  fairly  enough  in  helpless  distor- 

*  Dante,  Inf.,  VII.  57.    Purg.,  XXII.  46. 
f  Dante,  Inf.,  XXVII. 
i  Ibid.  XXV. 


THE   PLACE   OF  DRAGONS.  179 

tion  that  one  to  which  the  frog's  leaping  power  s 
due.* 

Centrally  in  the  foreground  is  set  the  skull,  perhaps  of 
an  ape,  but  more  probably  of  an  ape-like  man,  "  with  fore- 
head villanous  low."  This  lies  so  that  its  eye-socket  looks 
out,  as  it  were,  through  the  empty  eyehole  of  a  sheep's 
skull  beside  it.  When  man's  vision  has  become  ovine 
merely,  it  shall  at  last,  even  of  grass,  see  only  such  bitter 
and  dangerous  growth  as  our  husbandman  must  reap  with 
a  spear  from  a  dragon's  wing. 

The  remaining  minor  words  of  this  poem  in  a  forgotten 
tongue  I  cannot  definitely  interpret.  The  single  skull 
with  jaw-bone  broken  off,  lying 'under  the  dragon's  belly, 
falls  to-be  mentioned  afterwards.  The  ghastly  heap  of 
them,  crowned  by  a  human  mummy,  withered  and 
brown, f  beside  the  coil  of  the  dragon's  tail,  seem  meant 
merely  to  add  general  emphasis  to  the  whole.  The 
mummy  (and  not  this  alone  in  the  picture)  may  be  com- 
pared with  Spenser's  description  of  the  Captain  of  the 
Army  of  Lusts: — 

"  His  body  loan  and  meagre  as  a  rake, 
And  skin  all  withered  like  a  dryed  rook, 
Thereto  as  cold  and  dreary  as  a  snake. 
***** 

Upon  his  head  he  wore  a  helmet  light, 
Made  of  a  dead  man's  skull,  that  seemed  a  ghastly  sight." 

The  row  of  five  palm  trees  behind  the  dragon's  head 
perhaps  refers  to  the  kinds  of  temptation  over  which  Vic- 

*  '  Ariadne  Florentina,'  Lect.  III.,  p.  93. 

f  The  venom  of  the  stellio.  a  spotted  species  of  lizard,  emblem  of 
shamelessness,  was  held  to  cause  blackening  of  the  face. 


180  THE  PLACE  OF  DRAGONS. 

tory  must  be  gained,  and  may  thus  be  illustrated  by  the 
five  troops  that  in  Spenser  assail  the  several  senses,  or  be- 
side Chaucer's  five  fingers  of  the  hand  of  lust.  It  may 
be  observed  that  Pliny  speaks  of  the  Essenes — preceders 
of  the  Christian  Hermits — who  had  given  up  the  world 
and  its  joys  as  "  gens  socia  palmarum."  * 

Behind  the  dragon,  in  the  far  background,  is  a  great 
city.  Its  walls  and  towers  are  crowded  by  anxious  spec- 
tators of  the  battle.  There  stands  in  it,  on*a  lofty  pedes- 
tal, the  equestrian  statue  of  an  emperor  on  horseback,  per- 
haps placed  there  by  Carpaccio  for  sign  of  Alexandria, 
perhaps  merely  from  *a  Venetian's  pride  and  joy  in  the 
great  figure  of  Colleone  recently  set  up  in  his  city.  In 
the  background  of  the  opposite  (St.  George's)  side  of  the 
picture  rises  a  precipitous  hill,  crowned  by  a  church.  The 
cliffs  are  wavewora,  an  arm  of  the  sea  passing  between 
them  and  the  city. 

Of  these  hieroglyphics,  only  the  figure  of  the  princess 
now  remains  for  our  reading.  The  expression  on  her  face, 
ineffable  by  descriptive  words,  f  is  translated  into  more 
tangible  symbols  by  the  gesture  of  her  hands  and  arms. 
These  repeat,  with  added  grace  and  infinitely  deepened 
meaning,  the  movement  of  maidens  who  encourage  The- 
seus or  Cadmus  in  their  battle  with  monsters  on  many 
a  Greek -vase.  They  have  been  clasped  in  agony  and 

*  Pliny,  Hist.  Nat.,  V.  17. 

f  Suppose  Caliban  had  conquered  Prospero,  and  fettered  him  in  a  fig- 
tree  or  elsewhere  ;  that,  Miranda,  after  watching  the  struggle  from  the 
cave,  had  seen  him  coming  triumphantly  to  seize  her  ;  and  that  the  first 
appearance  of  Ferdinand  is,  just  at  that  moment,  to  her  rescue.  If  we 
conceive  how  she  would  have  looked  then,  it  may  give  some  parallel  to 
the  expression  on  the  princess's  face  in  this  picture,  but  without  a  cer- 
tain light  of  patient  devotion  here  well  marked. 


THE  PLACE   OF  DRAGONS.  181 

prayer,  but  arc  now  parting — still  just  a  little  doubtfully 
— into  a  gesture  of  joyous  gratitude  to  this  captain  of  the 
army  of  salvation  and  to  the  captain's  Captain.  Raphael* 
has  painted  her  running  from  the  scene  of  battle.  Even 
with  Tintoret  f  she  turns  away  for  flight ;  and  if  her  hands 
are  raised  to  heaven,  and  her  knees  fall  to  the  earth,  it  is 
more  that  she  stumbles  in  a  woman's  weakness,  than  that 
she  abides  in  faith  or  sweet  self-surrender.  Tintoret  sees 
the  scene  as  in  the  first  place  a  matter  of  fact,  and  paints 
accordingly,  following  his  judgment  of  girl  nature.:]:  Car- 
paccio  sees  it  as  above  all  things  a  matter  of  faith,  and 
paints  mythically  for  our  teaching.  Indeed,  doing  this, 
he  repeats  the  old  legend  with  more  literal  accuracy.  The 
princess  was  offered  as  a  sacrifice  for  her  people.  If  not 
willing,  she  was  at  least  submissive;  nor  for  herself  did 
she  dream  of  flight.  No  chains  in  the  rock  were  required 
for  the  Christian  Andromeda. 

"  And  the  king  said,  .  .  .  '  Daughter,  I  would  you  had 
died  long  ago  rather  than  that  I  should  lose  you  thus.' 
And  she  fell  at  his  feet,  asking  of  him  a  father's  blessing. 
And  when  he  had  blessed  her  once  and  again,  with  tears 
,-he  \vcnt  her  way  to  the  shore.  Now  St.  George  chanced 
t<>  pass  by  that  place,  and  he  saw  her,  and  asked  why  she 
wept.  .Mut  she  answered,  'Good  youth,  mount  quickly 
and  flee  away,  that  you  die  not  here  shamefully  with  me.' 
Then  St.  George  said,  '  Fear  not,  maiden,  but  tell  me  what 


*  Louvre. 

f  XuMonal  Gallery. 

{And  perhaps  from  a  certain  ascetic  feeling,  a  sense  growing  with 
the  £  rowing  liretis"  of  Venice,  that  tin;  soul  must  rather  escape  from 
this  monster  by  flight,  than  hope  to  sue  it  subdued  and  made  serviceable, 
(vide  p.  10). 


182  THE  PLACE  OF  DRAGONS. 

it  is  you  wait  for  here,  and  all  the  peop/e  stand  far  off 
beholding.'  And  she  said,  '  I  see,  good  youth,  how  great 
of  heart  you  are  ;  but  why  do  you  wish  to  die  with  me  ? ' 
And  St.  George  answered,  '  Maiden,  do  not  fear;  I  go  not 
hence  till  you  tell  me  why  you  weep.'  And  when  she 
had  told  him  all,  he  answered,  '  Maiden,  have  no  fear,  for 
in  the  name  of  Christ  will  I  save  you.'  And  she  said, 
4  Good  soldier, — lest  you  perish  with  me  !  For  that  I 
perish  alone  is  enough,  and  you  could  not  save  me  ;  you 
would  perish  with  me.'  Now  while  she  spoke  the  dragon 
raised  his  head  from  the  waters.  And  the  maiden  cried 
out,  all  trembling,  '  Flee,  good  my  lord,  flee  away  swift- 
ly.' "  *  Bat  our  "  very  loyal  chevalier  of  the  faith  "  saw 
cause  to  disobey  the  lady. 

Yet  Carpaccio  means  to  do  much  more  than  just  repeat 
this  story.  His  princess,  (it  is  impossible,  without  undue 
dividing  of  its  substance,  to  put  into  logical  words  the 
truth  here  "embodied  in  a  tale,") — but  this  princess  rep- 
resents the  soul  of  man.  And  therefore  she  wears  a  cor- 
onet of  seven  gems,  for  the  seven  virtues ;  and  of  these, 
the  midmost  that  crowns  her  forehead  is  shaped  into  the 
figure  of  a  cross,  signifying  faith,  the  saving  virtue.f  We 
shall  see  that  in  the  picture  of  Gethsemane  also,  Carpaccio 
makes  the  representative  of  faith  central.  Without  faith, 
men  indeed  may  shun  the  deepest  abyss,  yet  cannot  attain 
the  glory  of  heavenly  hope  and  love.  Dante  saw  how 
such  men — even  the  best — may  not  know  the  joy  that  is 
perfect.  Moving  in  the  divided  splendour  merely  of 

*Legenda  Aurea. 

f  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  putting  logically  the  apostle's  "  substance  of 
things  hoped  for,"  defines  faith  as  "a  habit  of  mind  by  which  eternal 
life  is  begun  in  us  "  (Summa  II.  III.  IV.  1). 


THE   PLACE   OF  DRAGONS.  183 

under  earth,  on  sward  whose  "  fresh  verdure,"  eternally 
changeless,  expects  neither  in  patient  waiting  nor  in  sacred 
hope  the  early  and  the  latter  rain,*  "Sernbianza  avevan 
ne  trista  ne  lieta." 

This  maiden,  then,  is  an  incarnation  of  spiritual  life, 
mystically  crowned  with  all  the  virtues.  But  their  diviner 
meaning  is  yet  no  revealed,  and  following  the  one  legible 
command  she  .goes  down  to  such  a  death  for  her  people, 
vainly.  Only  by  help  of  the  hero  who  slays  monstrous 
births  of  nature,  to  sow  and  tend  in  its  organic  growth 
the  wholesome  plant  of  civil  life,  may  she  enter  into  that 
liberty  with  which  Christ  makes  His  people  free. 

The  coronet  of  the  princess  is  clasped  about  a  close  red 
cap  which  hides  her  hair.  Its  tresses  are  not  yet  cast  loose, 
inasmuch  as,  till  the  dragon  be  subdued,  heavenly  life  is 
not  secure  for  the  soul,  nor  its  marriage  with  the  great 
Bridegroom  complete.  In  corners  even  of  Western  Europe 
to  this  day,  a  maiden's  hair  is  jealously  covered  till  her 
wedding.  Compare  now  this  head  with  that  of  St.  George. 
Carpr.ccio,  painting  a  divine  service  of  mute  prayer  and 
acted  prophecy,  has  followed  St.  Paul's  law  concerning 
vestments.  I>ut  we  shall  see  how,  when  prayer  is  an- 
swered and  prophecy  fulfilled,  the  long  hair — ''a  glory  to 
her,"  and  given  by  Xature  for  a  veil — is  sufficient  cover- 
ing upon  the  maiden's  head,  bent  in  a  more  mystic  rite. 


*  Epistle  of  James,  v.,  Dante  selects  (and  Carpaccio  follow*  him)  as 
lien \vnly  juilirr  nf  a  ri-jht  hope  that  apostle  who  reminds  his  reader  how 
man's  life  is  even  as  a  vapour  that  appeareth  for  a  little  time  and  then 
vanisheth  away.  For  the  connection — geologically  historic-  of  grass 
and  showers  with  true  human  I'fe,  compare  (inn-sis  ii.  5 — S.  when-  tin- 
right  translation  is,  "And  no  plant  of  the  field  was  yet  in  the  earth, 
and  no  herb  yet  sprung  up  or  grown,"  etc. 


184  THE   PLACE   OF  DRAGONS. 

From  the  cap  hangs  a  long  scarf-like  veil.  It  is  twisted 
once  about  the  princess's  left  arm,  and  then  floats  in  the 
air.  The  effect  of  this  veil  strikes  one  on  the  first  glance 
at  the  picture.  It  gives  force  to  the  impression  of  natural 
fear,  yet  strangely,  in  light  fold,  adds  a  secret  sense  of  se- 
curity, as  though  the  gauze  were  some  sacred  a^gis.  And 
such  indeed  it  is,  nor  seen  first  by  Carpaccio,  though  prob- 
ably his  intuitive  invention  here.  There  is  a  Greek  vase- 
picture*  of  Cadmus  attacking  a  dragon,  Ares-begotten, 
that  guarded  the  sacred  spring  of  the  warrior-god.  That 
fight  was  thus  for  the  same  holy  element  whose  symbolic 
sprinkling  is  the  end  of  this  one  here.  A  maiden  anx- 
iously watches  the  event  ;  her  gesture  resembles  the  prin- 
cess's; her  arm  is  similarly  shielded  by  a  fold  of  her 
mantle.  •  But  we  have  a  parallel  at  once  more  familiar 
and  more  instructively  perfect  than  this.  Cadmus  had  a 
daughter,  to  whom  was  given  power  upon  the  sea,  because 
in  utmost  need  she  had  trusted  herself  to  the  mercy  of  its 
billows.  Lady  of  its  foam,  in  hours  when  "  the  blackening 
wave  is  edged  with  white,"  she  is  a  holier  and  more  help- 
ful Aphrodite,  —  a  "water-sprite"  whose  voice  foretells 
that  not  '"wreck"  but  salvation  "is  nigh."  In  the  last 
and  mostterrible  crisis  of  that  loiii*  battle  with  the  Power 

o 

of  Ocean,  who  denied  him  a  return  to  his  Fatherland, 
Ulysses  would  have  perished  in  the  waters  without  the 
veil  of  Leucothea  wrapped  about  his  breast  as  divine  life- 
buoy. And  that  veil,  the  "immortal"  xpi'/dsftvov^  was 


*  Inghirami  gives  this  (No.  239). 

f  In  pursuance  of  the  same  symbolism,  Troy  walls  were  once  literally 
called  "salvation,"  this  word,  with,  for  certain  historical  reasons,  the 
added  epithet  of  "holy,"  being  applied  to  them.  With  tke 
Penelope  shielded  her  "  tender"  cheeks  in  presence  of  the  suitors. 


THE  PLACE  OF  DRAGONS.  185 

just  such  a  scarf  attached  to  the  head-dress  BE  this  one  of 
the  princess's  here.*  Curiously,  too,  we  shall  see  that 
Leucothea  (at  first  called  Ino),  of  Thebes'  and  Cadmus' 
line,  daughter  of  Harmonia,  is  closely  connected  with  cer- 
tain sources  of  the  story  of  St.  George.f  But  we  have 
first  to  consider  the  dragon's  service. 

*  Vide  Nitsch  ad  Od.,  V.  346. 

t  <5'  iv  MO.I  &aA.ad6a 
ft  i  or  ov  a  q>Qir  ov 

Qai    TOV    o\ov    ancpl    xpovov. 

(Find.  01.,  II.  51.) 


The  Editor  had  hope  of  publishing  this  book  a  full  year 
ago.  He  now  in  all  humility,  yet  not  in  uncertainty,  can 
sum  the  causes  of  its  delay,  both  with  respect  to  his  friend 
and  to  himself,  in  the  words  of  St.  Paul, 


Hat  evsHot^Ev    juas 


BRANTWOOD, 

Qth  March,  1879. 


APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  VIII. 


SANCTUS,  SANCTUS,  SANCTUS. 

AN   ACCOUNT    OF    THE    MOSAICS   IN   THE    BAPTISTERY 
OF  ST.  MARK'S. 

"  The  whole  edifice  is  to  be  regarded  less  as  a  temple  wherein  to  pray 
than  as  itself  a  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  a  vast  illuminated  missal, 
bound  with  alabaster  instead  of  parchment." 

Stones  of  Venice,  ii.  4,  46. 

"  We  must  take  some  pains,  therefore,  when  we  enter  St.  Mark's,  to 
read  all  that  is  inscribed,  or  we  shall  not  penetrate  into  the  feeling 
either  of  the  builder  or  of  his  times."  Stones  of  Venice,  ii.  4,  64. 


THE  following  catalogue  of  the  mosaics  of  the  Baptistery 
of  St.  Mark's  was  written  in  the  antumn  of  1882,  after  a 
first  visit  to  Venice,  and  was  then  sent  to  Mr.  Euskin  as 
a  contribution  to  his  collected  records  of  the  church.  It 
was  not  intended  for  publication,  but  merely  as  notes  or 
material  for  which  he  might  possibly  find  some  use  ;  and 
if  the  reader  in  Venice  will  further  remember  that  it  is 
the  work  of  no  artist  or  antiquarian,  but  of  a  traveller  on 
his  holiday,  he  will,  it  is  hoped,  be  the  more  ready  to  par- 
don errors  and  omissions  which  his  own  observation  can 
correct  and  supply.  The  mosaics  of  the  Baptistery  are,  of 
course,  only  a  small  portion  of  those  to  be  seen  through- 
out the  church,  but  that  portion  is  one  complete  in  itself, 
and  more  than  enough  to  illustrate  the  vast  amount  of 
thought  contained  in  the  scripture  legible  on  the  walls  of 


190  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

St.  Mark's  by  every  comer  who  is  desirous  of  taking  any 
real  interest  in  the  building. 

The  reader,  then,  who  proposes  to  make  use  of  the  pres- 
ent guide  can,  by  reference  to  the  following  list,  see  at  a 
glance  the  subjects  with  which  these  mosaics  deal,  and  the 
order  in  which  his  attention  will  be  directed  to  them. 
They  are,  in  addition  to  the  altar-piece,  these : — 

I.  The  Life  of  St.  John  the  Baptist. 
II.  The  Infancy  of  Christ. 

III.  St.  Nicholas. 

IV.  The  Four  Evangelists. 
V.  The  Four  Saints. 

VI.  The  Greek  Fathers. 
VII.  The  Latin  Fathers. 
VIII.  Christ  and  the  Prophets. 
IX.  Christ  and  the  Apostles. 
X.  Christ  and  the  Angels. 

The  subject  of  the  altar-piece  is  the  Crucifixion.  In  the 
centre  is  Christ  on  the  cross,  with  the  letters  1C.  XC.  on 
either  side.  Over  the  cross  are  two  angels,  veiling  their 
faces  with  their  robes ;  at  its  foot  lies  a  skull, — Golgotha, 
— upon  which  falls  the  blood  from  Christ's  feet,  whilst  on 
each  side  of  the  Saviour  are  five  figures,  those  at  the  ex- 
treme ends  of  the  mosaic  being  a  doge  and  dogaress,  pro- 
bably the  donors  of  the  mosaic. 

To  the  left  is  St.  Mark— S  TL31CVS— with  an  open 
book  in  his  hand,  showing  the  words,  "  In  illo 
tempore  Maria  mater.  .  .  ."  "  In  that  hour 
Mary  his  mother.  ..."  She  stands  next  the 
cross,  with  her  hands  clasp  in  grief ;  above  her 
are  the  letters  M— P  &  V—^rijp  Geov — Mother  of  God. 


APPENDIX   TO   CHAPTER  VETI.  191 

To  the  right  of  the  cross  is  St.  John  the  Evangelist — S. 
IOIIES  EVG — his  face  covered  with  his  hands,  receiv- 
ing charge  of  the  Virgin  :  "  When  Jesus,  therefore,  saw 
his  mother,  and  the  disciple  standing  by,  whom  he  loved, 
he  saith  unto  his  mother,  Woman,  behold  thy  son  !  Then 
saith  he  to  the  disciple,  Behold  thy  mother !  And  from 
that  hour  the  disciple  took  her  unto  his  own  home  "  (St. 
John  xix.  26,  27). 

Lastly,  next  St.  John  the  Evangelist  is  St.  John  the 
Baptist,  bearing  a  scroll,  on  which  are  the  words : 

" ECCE  AGNTJS  DEI  ECE. ..." 
"  Ecce  agnus  Dei,  ecce  qui  tollit  peccatum  mundi." 

"  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God  which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world  " 
(St.  John  i.  29).* 

I.  THE  LIFE  OF  ST.  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST. — Leaving  the 
altar  and  turning  to  the  right,  we  have  the  first  mosaic  in 
the  series  which  gives  the  life  of  the  Baptist,  and  consists 
in  all  of  ten  pictures.  (See  opposite  plan.) 

a.  His  birth  is  announced. 
5.  He  is  born  and  named. 

c.  He  is  led  into  the  desert. 

d.  He  receives  a  cloak  from  an  angel. 

e.  He  preaches  to  the  people. 

*  The  scriptural  references  in  this  appendix  are,  first,  to  the  Vulgate, 
Which  most  of  the  legends  in  the  Baptistery  follow,  and,  secondly,  to 
the  English  version  of  the  Bible.  The  visitor  will  also  notice  that 
throughout  the  chapel  the  scrolls  are  constantly  treated  by  the  inosaic- 
Ists  literally  as  scrolls,  the  text  being  cut  short  even  in  the  middle  of  a 
word  by  the  curl  of  the  supposed  parchment. 


192 


ST.  MARK  S    BEST. 


PLAN  OF  THE  BAPTISTERY. 


ALTAR. 


o 


10 

10 


APPENDIX  TO   CHAPTER   VI1L  193 

y.  He  answers  the  Pharisees. 

y.  He  baptizes  Christ. 

h.  He  is  condemned  to  death. 

i.  He  is  beheaded. 
j.  He  is  buried. 

a.  His  birth  is  announced. — This  mosaic  has  three  di- 
visions. 

1.  To  the  left  is  Zacharias  at  the  altar,  with  the  angel 
appearing  toUiiin.     He  swings  a  censer,  burning  incense 
"in  the  order  of  his  course."     He  has  heard  the  angel's 
message,  for  his  look  and  gesture  show  clearly  that  he  is 
already  struck  dumb.     Above  are  the  words  r 

INGRESSO  ZACHARIA  TEPLV  DNI 
£>£tVIT   El  AGLS  DNI  STAS 
A  DEXTRIS  ALTARIS 

"  Ingresso  Zaeharia  templum  doraini  aparuit  ei  angelus  domini  slans 
a  dextris  altaris." 

"  When  Zacharias  had  entered  the  temple  of  the  Lord  there  appeared 
to  him  an  angel  of  the  Lord  standing  on  the  right  side  of  the  altar  " 
(St.  Luke  i.  9-11). 

2.  "  And  the  people  waited  for  Zacharias,  and  marvelled 
that  he  tarried  so  long  in  the  temple.     And  when  he  came 
out,  he  could  not  speak  unto  them :  and  they  perceived 
that  he  had  seen  a  vision  in  the  temple  :  for  he  beckoned 
unto  them,  and  remained  speechless  "  (St.  Luke  i.  21  22). 

*  H.  S.  ZAHARIAS  EXIT 
TUTUS  AD   PPLM 

"  Hie  sanctus  Zacharias  exit  tutus  ad  populum." 
"  Here  saint  Zacharias  comes  out  safe  to  the  people." 
9 


194  ST.  MARK'S  BEST. 

3.  "  He  departed  to  his  own  house  "  (St.  Luke  i.  23). 
Zacharias  embracing  his  wife  Elizabeth. 

*  &   ZMA 
BIAS.  S.  ELI 
SABETA 

b.  He  is  born  and  named  (opposite  the  door  into  the 
church). — Zacharias  is  seated  to  the  left  *  of  the  picture, 
and  has  a  book  or  "  writing  table  "  in  front  of 
him,  in  which  he  has  written  "  Johannes  est 
nomen  ejus  " — "  His  name  is  John  "  (Luke  i. 
63).  To  the  right  an  aged  woman,  Elizabeth, 
points  to  the  child  inquiringly,  "  How  would  you  have 
him  called  ?  "  ;  further  to  the  right,  another  and  younger 
woman  kneels,  holding  out  the  child  to  his  father.  At 
the  back  a  servant  with  a  basket  in  her  arms  looks  on. 
Unlike  the  other  two  women,  she  has  no  glory  about  her 
head.  Above  is  a  tablet  inscribed  : — 

NATIVITAS 

SANCTI  JOHANNIS 

BAPTISTS 

and   below   another  tablet,   with    the   date  and   artist's 
name — 

FRAN'  TURESSIVS  V.F.  MDCXXVIII. 

» 

Turning  now  to  the  west  wall,  and  standing  with  the 
altar  behind  us,  we  have  the  next  three  mosaics  of  the 
series,  thus — 

*  By  "right"  and  "left"  in  this  appendix  is  meant  always  the 
right  and  left  hand  of  the  spectator  as  he  faces  his  subject. 


APPENDIX   TO   CHAPTEB  YHT.  195 

VAULT  OF  ROOr 


c.   He  is  led  into  the  desert. — The  words  of  the  legends 
are  : — 

*  QVOM   £sTGELV  SEDOVXAT  S.  IOHAN. 
I.  DESEKTUM. 

"  Quomodo  angelus  seduxit  (?)  sanctum  Johannem 

in  desertura." 
"  How  an  angel  led  away  saint  John  into  the  desert." 

This  is  not  biblical.  "And  the  child  grew  and  waxed 
strong  in  spirit,  and  was  in  the  deserts  till  the  day  of  his 
showing  unto  Israel''  is  all  St.  Luke  (i.  80)  says.  Here 
the  infant  Baptist  is  being  led  by  an  angel,  who  points 
on \vard  with  one  hand,  ami  with  the  other  holds  that  of 
the  child,  who,  so  far  from  being  "  strong  in  spirit,"  looks 
troubled,  and  has  one  hand  placed  on  his  heart  in  evident 
fear.  His  other  hand,  in  the  grasp  of  the  angel's,  does  not 
in  any  way  hold  it,  but  is  held  by  it ;  he  is  literally  being 
led  into  the  desert  somewhat  against  his  will.  The  word 
sedouaxat  (?  medi.vval  for  seduxit)  may  here  well  have  this 
meaning  of  persuasive  leading.  It  should  also  be  noted 
that  the  child  and  his  uuide  are  already  far  on  their  way: 
they  have  left  all  vegetation  behind  them  ;  only  a  stony 
i-nek  and  rough  ground,  with  one  or  two  tufts  of  grass  and 
a  leafless  tree,  are  visible. 


196  ST.  MASK'S  REST. 

d.  He  receives  a  cloak  from  an  angel. — This  is  also  not 
biblical.     The  words  above  the  mosaic  are — 

HC  AGELUS   REPRESETAT  VESTE  BTO  IOHI 

"  Hie  angelus  representat  vestem  be  to  Johanni." 

"  Here  the  angel  gives  (back?)  a  garment  to  the  blessed  John." 

St.  John  wears  his  cloak  of  camel's  hair,  and  holds  in  one 
MT     hand  a  scroll,  on  which  is  written  an  abbreviation 
^     of  the  Greek  " jAsrav OBITS" — "Kepentye." 
E 

e.  He  preaches  to  the  people. 

HIC  PREDICAT.* 
"Here  he  preaches"  [or  "  predicts  the  Christ"]. 

The  Baptist  is  gaunt  and  thin  ;  he  wears  his  garment  of 
camel's  hair,  and  has  in  his  hand  a  staff  with  a  cross  at  the 
top  of  it.  He  stands  in  a  sort  of  pulpit,  behind  which  is 
a  building,  presumably  a  church ;  whilst  in  front  of  him 
listen  three  old  men,  a  woman,  and  a  child.  Below  are 
three  more  women. 

/.  He  answers  the  Pharisees  (on  the  wall  opposite  e). — 
To  the  right  are  the  priests  and  Levites  sent  from  Je- 
rusalem, asking,  "  What  says  he  of  himself?  "  They  are 
four  in  number,  a  Rabbi  and  three  Pharisees.  To  the  left 
is  St.  John  with  two  disciples  behind  him.  Between 
them  rolls  the  Jordan,  at  the  ferry  to  which  (Bethabara) 

*  The  mark  of  abbreviation  over  the  C  shows  the  omission  of  an  h  in 
the  mediaeval  "  predichat." 


APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  VIII.  197 

the  discussion  between  the  Baptist  and  the  Jews  took  place, 
and  across  the  river  the  Rabbi  asks : 

QV6M  .  ERGO  .  B^PT 
ZAS  .  SI  NQE  .  XPS  .  NE 
Q  .  BELLA,.  NEQ'  PHA 

"  Quomodo  ergo  baptizas  si  neque  Christus,  neque  Elia,  neque 
Propheta?"* 

"  Why  baptizcst  thou,  then,  if  thou  be  not  that  Christ,  nor  Elias, 
neither  that  prophet  V  "  (John  i.  25). 

St.  John  does  not,  however,  give  the  answer  recorded  of 
him  in  the  Gospel,  but  another  written  above  his  head 
thus : — 

*  EGO  BAPTIZO  IJfo 

MIE  PATRIS 
ET  .  FILII .  7  .  SP' 
SCI 

"  Ego  baptizo  in  nomine  patrio  et  filii  &  Spiritus  sancti." 

"  I  baptize  in  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  Son,  and  Holy  Spirit." 

g.  He  baptizes  Christ. 

I1ICE  BAPTISMV  XPI 

On  the  left  is  a  tree  with  an  axe  laid  to  its  root.  In  the 
centre  stands  St.  John,  with  his  hand  on  the  head  of 
Christ,  who  stands  in  the  midst  of  the  river.  Three 
angels  look  down  from  the  right  bank  into  the  water  ;  aucf 
in  it  are  five  fishes,  over  one  of  which  Christ's  hand  is 
raised  in  blessing.  Below  is  a  child  with  a  golden  vase  in 
one  hand,  probably  the  river  god  of  the  Jordan,  who  is 
sometimes  introduced  into  these  pictures.  From  above  a 

*  The  Vulgate  has  "  Quid  ergo  baptizas  si  tu  non  es,"  etc. 


198  ST.  MARK'S  BEST. 

ray  of  light,  with  a  star  and  a  dove  in  it,  descends  on  the 
head  of  Christ :  "  And  Jesus  when  lie  was  baptized,  went 
up  straightway  out  of  the  water :  and,  lo,  the  heavens 
were  opened  unto  him,  and  he  saw  the  Spirit  of  God  de- 
scending like  a  dove,  and  lighting  upon  him  :  and  lo,  a 
voice  from,  heaven,  saying,  This  is  my  beloved  Son,  in 
whom  I  am  well  pleased  "  (Matt.  iii.  16, 17). 

h.  His  death  is  commanded  ly  Herod  (over  the  door 
into  the  main  body  of  the  church). 


The  mosaic  is  (according  to  the  sacristan)  entirely  restored, 
and  the  letters  of  the  legend  appear  to  have  been  incor- 
rectly treated.  The  words  are  "  Puellse  saltanti  impera- 
vit  mater  nihil  (?  mchil)  aliud  petas  nisi  caput  Johaunis 
Baptistse  " — "  And  as  the  girl  danced  her  mother  com- 
manded her,  saying,  Ask  for  nothing  else,  but  only  for  the 
head  of  John  the  Baptist." 

Five  figures  are  seen  in  the  mosaic  : — 

1.  Herod  with  his  hands  raised  in  horror  and  distress, 
"  exceeding  sorry  "  (Mark  vi.  26). 

2.  Herodias,  pointing  at  him,  with  a  smile  of  triumph. 

3.  Herodias'  daughter  dancing,  with  the  charger  on  her 
head. 


APPENDIX   TO   CHAPTER   VIH.  199 

4.  Another  figure  with  regard  to  which  see  ante,  p.  96, 
§  8,  where  it  is  suggested  that  the  figure  is  St.  John  at  a 
former  time,  saying  to  Herod,  "  It  is  not  lawful  for  thee 
to  have  her."     If  this  is  not  so,  it  may  be  that  the  figure 
represents  the  "  lords,  high  captains,  and  chief  estates  of 
Galilee  "   (Mark  vi.  21)  who  were  at  the  feast. 

5.  A  servant  in  attendance. 

i.  He  is  beheaded. 

*  DECHOLACIO  SCI  IOHIS  BAT. 
"The  beheading  of  St.  John  the  Baptist." 

To  the  left  is  the  headless  body  of  St.  John,  still  in 
prison.  "And  immediately  the  king  sent  an  executioner 
(or  ' one  of  his  guard'),  and  he  went  and  beheaded  him  in 
prison."  The  Baptist  has  leant  forward,  an'd  his  hands 
are  stretched  out,  as  if  to  save  himself  in  falling.  A  Ro- 
man soldier  is  sheathing  his  sword,  and  looks  somewhat 
disgusted  at  the  daughter  of  Herodias  as  she  carries  the 
head  to  her  mother,  who  sits  enthroned  near.  (See  ante, 
p.  98,  §  10.) 

j.  He  is  Imried. — "  And  when  his  disciples  heard  of  it 
they  came  and  took  up  his  corpse  and  laid  it  in  a  tomb  " 

(Mark  vi.  29). 

"Hie  sepelitur  corpus  sancti  Jo- 

H.  SEPELITVR  .  CO  hannis  Baptist*  "— ' '  Here  is  being 

RPVS  .  S  .  IOHIS  .  BAT  buried  the  body  of  St.  John  the 

(See  ante,  p.  98,  §  10.)  Baptist." 

The  headless  body  of  the  Baptist  is  being  laid  in  the 
grave  by  two  disciples,  whilst  a  third  swings  a  censer 
over  it. 

II.  THE  INFANCY  OF  CHBJST, — Going  back  now  to  the 


200  ST.  MAKK'S  BEST. 

west  end  of  the  chapel,  we  have  four  mosaics  representing 
scenes  in  the  infancy  of  Christ. 

1.  The  wise  men  before  Herod.    )  Above  c  and  e  in  the 

2.  The  wise  men  adoring  Christ,  j  Life  of  st-  John- 

3.  The  flight  into  Egypt.  Oppogite  l  and  3 

4.  The  Holy  Innocents.  j 

1.  The  wise  men  before  Herod. 

Herod  is  seated  on  his  throne,  attended  by  a  Roman 
soldier ;  he  looks  puzzled  and  anxious.  Before  him  are 
the  three  kings  in  attitudes  of  supplication  ;  and  above  are 
the  words — 

*  VBIE  .QVINATU' .  EST  .  REX  .  JUD^IORUM. 

"  Ubi  est  qui  natus  est  rex  Judaeorum  ?"  [^    ^  , ,    ..    „ 

"Where  is  he  that  is  born  king  of  the  Jews  ?  "  ) 

2.  The  wise  men  adoring  Christ. 

*  ADORABVT  EV  ONS  REGES  TERE  ET  QMS  GETES  SER- 
VIENT  El 

"  Adorabunt  eum  omnes  reges  teme,  (et)  omes  gentes  servient  ei." 
"Yea,  all  kings  shall  fall  down  before  him  ;  all  nations  shall  serve 
him  "  (Psalm  Ixxii.  10,  11). 

In  the  centre  is  the  Madonna  seated  on  a  throne,  which 
is  also  part  of  the  stable  of  the  inn.  On  her  knees  is  the 
infant  Christ,  with  two  lingers  of  his  right  hand  raised  in 
benediction.  The  Madonna  holds  out  her  hand,  as  if 
showing  the  Child  to  the  kings,  who  approach  Him  with 
gifts  and  in  attitudes  of  devout  worship.  To  the  left  is  a 
man  leading  a  camel  out  of  a  building ;  whilst  to  the  right 
of  the  stable  lies  Joseph  asleep,  with  an  angel  descending 
to  him  :  "  Arise  and  take  the  young  child."  (See  the  next 


APPENDIX  TO   CHAPTER  VIII.  201 

mosaic.)  The  rays  from  the  central  figure  of  the  vaulted 
roof  fall,  one  on  the  second  of  the  three  kings,  and  another, 
the  most  brilliant  of  them, — upon  which,  where  it  breaks 
into  triple  glory,  the  star  of  Bethlehem  is  set, — upon  the 
Madonna  and  the  Christ. 

3.  The  flight  into  Egypt. 

*  SVRGE  ET  ACCIPE  PUERVM  ET  MATREM  EU'  ET  FUGE 
IN  EGYPTUM  . .ET  ESTO  IBI  USQ'  DVM  DICAM  TIBI 

"Surge  et  accipe  puerum  et  matrem  ejus  et  fuge  in  Egyptum  et  esto 
ibi  usque  dum  dicam  tibi." 

"Arise  and  take  the  young  child  and  his  mother,  and  flee  into  Egypt, 
and  be  there  until  I  bring  thee  word"  (St.  Matt.ii.  13). 

A  youth  carrying  a  gourd  leads  into  a  building  with  a 
mosque-like  dome  a  white  ass,  on  which  is  seated  the  Ma- 
donna, holding  the  infant  Christ.  Joseph  walks  behind, 
carrying  a  staff  and  cloak.  The  fact  of  the  journey  being 
sudden  and  hasty  is  shown  by  the  very  few  things  which 
the  fugitives  have  taken  with  them — only  a  cloak  and  a 
gourd ;  they  have  left  the  presents  of  the  three  kings  behind. 

4.  The  Holy  Innocents. 

•KIT  NO .  HE  RODE'  VIDE'  Q'M  ILVSV  EET  AMAGI'  IRATV'E  .  RE, 

DE  .  7 .  MIT 

TES  OCCIDIT.OMS  PUERO' QVI.ERANT.  BETIILEEM  QM.QIRUS 
FINIBUS  .  EIVS  * 

"  Tune  Herodes  videns  quoniam  illusus  essot  a  magis  iratus  est  valde, 
et  mittens  occidit  omnes  pueros  qui  erant  in  Bethlehem  et  in  omnibus 
finibus  ejus." 

"  Then  Herod,  when  he  saw  that  he  was  mocked  of  the  wise  men,  was 

*  The  letters  underlined  are  unintelligible,  as  otherwise  the  legend 
follows  the  Vulgate.     Possibly  the  words  have  been  retouched,  and  the 
letters  incorrectly  restored. 
9* 


202  ST.  MARK'S  BEST. 

exceeding  wroth,  and  sent  forth,  and  slew  all  the  children  that  were  in 
Bethlehem,  and  in  all  the  coasts  thereof  "  (Matt.  ii.  16). 

Three  Roman  soldiers  are  killing  the  children,  some  of 
whom  already  lie  dead  and  bleeding  on  the  rocky  ground. 
To  the  right  is  a  mother  with  her  child  in  her  arms,  and 
near  her  another  woman  is  holding  up  her  hands  in  grief. 

III.  ST.  NICHOLAS. 

Just  below  the  mosaic  of  the  Holy  Innocents  is  one  of 
S.  NICOLAU ' — St.  Nicholas — with  one  hand  raised  in 
benediction  whilst  the  other  holds  a  book.  He  is  here, 
close  to  the  small  door  that  opens  on  to  the  Piazzetta,  the 
nearest  to  the  sea  of  all  the  saints  in  St.  Mark's,  because 
he  is  the  sea  saint,  the  patron  of  all  ports,  and  especially 
of  Venice.  He  was,  it  is  well  known,  with  St.  George 
and  St.  Mark,  one  of  the  three  saints  who  saved  Venice 
from  the  demon  ship  in  the  storm  when  St.  Mark  gave  to 
the  fishermen  the  famous  ring. 

There  now  remain  for  the  traveller's  examination  the 
three  vaults  of  the  Baptistery,  the  arches  leading  from  one 
division  of  the  chapel  to  another,  and  the  spandrils  which 
support  the  font  and  altar  domes.  In  the  arch  leading 
from  the  west  end  of  the  chapel  to  the  front  are  the  four 
evangelists  ;  in  that  leading  from  the  dome  over  the  font 
to  that  over  the  altar  are  four  saints,  whilst  in  the  span- 
drils of  the  two  last-named  domes  are,  over  the  font,  the 
four  Greek,  and  over  the  altar  the  four  Latin  fathers. 

IV.  THE  FOUR  EVANGELISTS. 

S.  LUCAS 

St.  Luke  is  writing  in  a  book,  and  has  written  a  letter 
and  a  half,  possibly  QV,  the  first  two  letters  of  Quonium 


APPENDIX  TO   CHAPTER  VIII.  203 

— "Forasmuch"' — which  is  the  opening  word  of  his  Gos- 
pel. 

S.  MARCVS  E?G. 

St.  Mark  is  sharpening  his  pencil,   and  has  a  pair  of 
pincers  on  his  desk. 

S.  IOHES  EVG. 

St.  John  is  represented  as  very  old, — alluding  of  course 
to  his  having  written  his  Gospel  late  in  life. 

S.  MATHEV  EVG. 

St.  Matthew  is  writing,  and  just  dipping  his  pen  in  the 
ink. 

Y.  FOUR  SAINTS — St.  Anthony,  St.  Pietro    Urseolo,  St. 

Isidore,  St.  Theodore. 

• 

a.  St.  Anthony  (on  the  left  at  the  bottom  of  the  arch). 

"  II  beato  Antonio  di  Bresa." 

1L  B     EA  St.     Anthony    is    the  hermit    saint. 

TO  ^e  stands  here  wjtli  clasped  hands, 

DI     BR  a°d  at  his  side  is  a  skull,  the  sign  of 

E     SA  penitence.      He  wears,  as   in    many 

other  pictures  of  him,  a  monk's  dress,  in  allusion  to  his  be- 
ing "the  founder  of  ascetic  monachism."  "His  tempta- 
tions" are  well  known. 

b.  St.  Pietro  Urseolo  (  above  St.  Anthony). 

"  Beatus  Petrus  Ursiolo  dux(s)  Vened." 

*  BE  A      TUS  «  The  blessed   Pietro  Urseolo,  Doge  of 

PETER         V'VRSI        the  Venetians." 
O  DUXS 

LO          VEtfED  This    Doge    turned    monk.     In- 

fluenced by  the  teaching  of  the  abbot  Guarino,  when  he 


204  ST.  MARK'S  BEST. 

came  to  Venice  from  his  consent  in  Guyenne,  Pietro  left 
his  ducal  palace  one  September  night,  fled  from  Venice, 
and  shut  himself  up  in  the  monastery  of  Cusano,  where 
he  remained  for  nineteen  years,  till  his  death  in  997. 

Here  he  is  represented  as  a  monk  in  a  white  robe,  with 
a  black  cloak.  He  holds  in  his  hand  the  Doge's  cap,  which 
he  has  dofted  for  ever,  and  as  he  looks  upwards,  there 
shines  down  on  him  a  ray  of  light,  in  the  centre  of  which 
is  seen  the  Holy  Dove. 

c.  St.  Isidore  (opposite  the  Doge). 

\ 
S.  ISIDORVS  MARTIR  (?) 

This  is  St.  Isidore  of  Chios,  a  martyr  saint,  who  per- 
ished during  the  persecutions  of  the  Christians  by  the  Em- 
peror Decius,  A.D.  250.  He  appears  to  have  been  much 
worshipped  at  Venice,  where  he  is  buried.  Here  he  is 
seen  dressed  as  a  warrior,  and  bearing  a  shield  and  a  lily, 
the  symbol  of  purity.* 

d.  St.  Theodore,     s.  THEODOE.     M. 

He  is  with  St.  George,  St.  Demetrius,  and  St.  Mer- 
curius,  one  of  the  four  Greek  warrior  saints  of  Christendom, 
besides  being,  of  course,  the  patron  saint  of  Venice.  He 
is  martyr  as  well  as  warrior,  having  fired  the  temple  of 
Cybele,  and  perished  in  the  flames,  A.D.  300. 

The  four  saints  upon  this  arch  thus  represent  two  forms 
of  Christian  service ;  St.  Anthony  and  the  Doge  being 

*  See  Stones  of  Venice,  vol.  ii.  chap.  viii.  §  127,  and  vol.  iii.  chap.  ii. 
§61.  His  body  was  brought  to  Venice  with  that  of  St.  Donatoinll26 
by  the  Doge  Doinenico  Michiel.  See  ante,  p.  11, 


APPENDIX   TO    CHAPTER   VIII.  205 

chosen  as  types  of  asceticism,  and  the  other  two  as  exam- 
ples of  actual  martyrdom. 

YI.  THE  FOUR  GREEK  FATHERS — /St.  John  Chrysostom, 
St.  Gregory  Nazianzenus,  St.  Basil  the  Great,  and  St. 
Athanasius  (on  the  spandrils  of  the  central  dome). 

a.  B.  IOHES  CRISOSTOMOS  PATKA  (patriarch),  on  the  right 
of  the  door  leading  into  the  church. 

He  has  no  mitre,  being  one  of  the  Greek  Fathers,  who 
are  thus  distinguished  from  the  Latin  Fathers,  all  of 
whom,  except  St.  Jerome  (the  cardinal ),  wear  mitres. 

He  bears  a  scroll — 

*REG 

NVM.I 

NTRA  "  Regnum  intrabit,  quern    non  sit 

BIT.  Q  purus  arte  lavabit. " 

VE.NON  "  He  shall  enter  the  kingdom  :  who 

S.PVR  is  not  clean,  him  shall  he  thoroughly 

VS    £IT  wash." 

E.LAV 

ABIT 

I.  s.  GREGORIVS  NAZIANZENUS  (to  the  right  of  St  John 
Chrysostom).  He  is  represented,  as  he  usually  is,  as  old 
and  worn  with  fasting.  On  his  scroll  is  written — 

*QVO 

DXA 

TURA  "Quod  natura  tulit  Ckristus  baptis- 

TULI  mate  curat. 

T  XPS  "  What  nature  has  brought,  Christ 

BAPTI  by  baptism  cures." 

SMAT 

ECV 

RAT 


206  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

c.  s.  BASIL  (to  the  right  of  his  friend  St.  Gregory).  St. 
Basil  the  Great,  the  founder  of  monachism  in  the  East, 
began  his  life  of  devotion  in  early  youth,  and  is  here  rep- 
resented as  a  young  man.  The  order  of  the  Basilicans 
is  still  the  only  order  in  the  Greek  Church.  His  scroll 
has — 

•fr  UT  SO  "Ut  sole  est  primum  lux"  (as  by  the 

LE  EST  sun  first  we  have  light).     The  rest  is  un- 

PRIMUM  intelligible,  except  the  last  word,  which 

LUX)MU  suggests    that    the  comparison  is    be- 

RIRIDE  tween   the  light   of  the  sun    and  the 

BATIS  spiritual  light  of  baptism. 
MUM 


d.  s.  ATHANASIUS,   old  and   white-haired.      His   scroll 
runs — 

*  UT  UN 

UM  EST 

NUM  "  Ut  unum  est  numen,  sic  sacro  munere 

EN  SI  a  lumen  (?  atque  lumen)." 

C  SACK  "  As  the  Godhead  is  one,   so  also   by 

NERE  God's  gift  is  light "  ( ? ) 

OMU 
ALV 
MEN 


VII.  THE  FOUR  LATIN  FATHERS — St.  Jerome,  $.  Am- 
brose, St.  Augustine,  and  St.  Gregory  the  Great  (on  the 
spandrils  of  the  altar  dome). 

The  light  here  is  very  bad;  and  even  after  accustoming 
himself  to  it,  the  reader  will  hardly  be  able  to  do  more 
than  see  that  all  four  figures  have  books  before  them,  in 
which  they  are  writing,  apparently  in  Greek  characters. 


APPENDIX   TO    CHAPTER  VIII.  207 

What  they  have  written — in  no  case  more  than  a  few 
letters — is  impossible  to  decipher  from  the  floor  of  the 
chapel.  St.  Jerome  wears  his  cardinal's  hat  and  robes,  and 
St.  Ambrose  has  his  bee-hive  near  him,  in  allusion  to  the 
story  that  when  in  his  cradle  a  swarm  of  bees  once  lighted 
on  his  lips  and  did  not  sting  him. 

The  visitor  has  thus  examined  all  the  mosaics  except 
those  of  the  three  domes.  lie  must  now,  therefore,  return 
from  near  the  altar  to  the  further  end  of  the  chapel,  and 
take  first  the  vaulting  (for  accurately  this  is  not  a  dome) 
of  that  part  of  the  roof. 

VIII.  CHRIST  AND  THE  PROPHETS. 

In  the  centre  is  Christ,  surrounded  by  the  prophets 
and  patriarchs  of  the  Old  Testament,  each  of  whom 
unfolds  a  scroll  and  displays  on  it  a  portion  of  his  own 
prophecy. 

Standing  with  his  back  to  the  altar,  the  visitor  will  thus 
see  to  the  left  of  the  Christ,  Zephaniah  and  Elisha,  and 
to  his  right  Isaiah  and  Hosea. 


1.  ZEPHANIAH.    SOPHONIAH  PHA  (propheta). 

His  scroll  runs  thus  : — 

KXl'E  "Expecta  me  in  die  resurrectionis 

TA  ME  ine;p   quoninm   ju((licium    meum    ut 

IX  DIE  congrcgem  gentos)." 

RESU  See  Zeph.    Hi..  8.     This  legend,  is 

RECT  shortened,  and  not  quite  accurately 

I'»N IS  quoted,  from  the  Vulgate.     Our  vt-r- 

MEE  sion  is  : — 

QUO  "  Wait  ye  upon  me  until  the  day 

NIMA  that  I  rise  up  .  .  .  for  my  determina- 

IU  tion  is  to  gather  the  nations. ..." 


208 


ST.  MARK  S    BEST. 


2.   ELISHA. 
ScroU :—  PATER 
MI  PA 
TERMI 
CURRU' 
ISRAEL 
ETATJ 
RIGA 
EIVS 


ELISEAS  P8A 


"  Pater  mi,  pater  mi,  currus  Israel 
et  auriga  ejus." 

"  My  father,  my  father,  the  chariot 
of  Israel  and  the  horsemen  thereof. " 
2  Kings  ii.  12. 


3.  ISAIAH. 

Scroll:— ECCE  V 
IRGOc 
CIPIET 
ET  PAR 
IET  FILI 
UM  ET  V 
OCABIT_ 
URNOM 


ISAIAS 
PHA 


"  Ecce  virgo  concipiet  et  pariet  fil- 
ium  et  vocabitur  nom  (en  ejus  Emman- 
uel)." 

"Behold a  virgin  shall  conceive  and 
bear  a  son,  and  shall  call  his  name  Im- 
manuel."  * 

Isa.  vii.  14. 


4.  HOSEA. 

Scroll  :— VENIT 
EET.RE 
VERTA 
MURAD_ 
DOMINU 
QVIA 
IPSE  CE 
PITET 
SANA 


OSIA 
PflA 


"  Venite  et  revertamur  ad  dominum 
quia  ipsc  cepit  et  sana  (bit  nos)/' 

' '  Come  and  let  us  return  unto  the 
Lord,  for  he  has  torn  and  he  will  heal 
us." 

Hosea  vi.  1. 


Then  turning  around  and  facing  the  altar,  we  have,  to  the 

*  Isaiah  is  constantly  represented  with  these  words  on  his  scroll,  as, 
for  example,  on  the  roof  of  the  Arena  Chapel  at  Padua,  and  on  the 
western  porches  of  the  cathedral  of  Verona. 


ST.  MABE  8  T.EST. 


209 


left  of  the  Christ,  Jeremiah  and  Elijah  ;  to  the  right,  Abra- 
ham and  Joel. 


5.  JEREMIAH: 

Scroll  :-IITC  EST 
UEVS 
NOSTER 
ET  NON 
EX-BIMA 
BITUR 
ALIVS 


JEREMIAS 
PfiA 

"  Hie  est  Deus  noster  et  non  extima- 
bitur  alius." 

"  This  is  our  God,  and  none  other 
shall  be  feared." 


6.  ELIJAH. 

Scroll  :— DOMIN 
ESICO 
NUER 

sus 

AVEX 
IT  PO 
PVLVS 
TV 

vs 


ELIA 
PSA 


"  Domine  si(c)  conversus  avenit  pop- 
ulus  tuus." 

"Lord,  thus  are  thy  people  come 
against  thee." 

This  is  not  biblical.  It  is  notice- 
able that  Elijah,  unlike  the  other 
prophets,  who  look  at  the  spectator, 
is  turning  to  the  Christ,  whom  he 
addresses. 


7.  ABRAHAM. 

Scroll :— VISITA 
VIT  DO 
MINUS 
SAHA.M 
SICUT 
PROMT 
SERAT 


ABRAN 
PflA 

"Visitavit  (autem)  dominus  Saram 
sicut  promiserat." 

"  The  Lord  visited  Sarah  as  he  had 
said." 

Qen.Yxi.  1. 


210 


APPENDIX  TO   CHAPTEE  VIII. 


8.  JOEL. 

Scroll :— SUPER 

SERVO(S) 

MEOSET 

SUPERA 

NCILAS 

ERUNEA 

MDBS 

PVMEO 


JOEL 
PHA 

"  Super  servos  meos  et  super  ancillas 
effundam  de  spiritu  meo."  * 

"  Upon  my  mea  servants  and  hand- 
maids will  I  pour  out  (of)  my  spirit." 
Joel  ii.  29. 


Then,  still  facing  the  altar,  there  are  on  the  wall  to  the 
right  David  and  Solomon  ;  on  that  to  the  left,  above  the 
Baptism  of  Christ,  Obadiah  and  Jonah. 


9.  DAVID. 


DAVID 
PHA 

"  Filius  meus  es  tu,  ego  hodie  genui 
te." 

"Thou  art  my  son,  this  day  have  I 
begotten  thee." 

Psalm  ii.  7. 


Scroll :— FILIUS 
MEV.E 
STU.E 
GO.H 
ODIE 
GEN 
UI.T 
E 

10.  SOLOMON.  SALOMON 

PHA 

Scroll  :— QVESI 
VI.ILLV 
M.ETNO 
NINVEN 
*  I.IUENE 
RUT.  IN 
ME.  VIGI 
LE.QVI 
CUTO 
DIUT 
CIUI 
TA 
TEM 

*  The  mosaic  has  apparently  "  erundam  "  for  "  effundam,"  possibly  a 
restorer's  error.  The  Vulgate  has '  'spiritum  neurn,"  for '  'de  spiritu  meo." 


"  Quaesivi  ilium  et  non  inveni-inven- 
erunt  in  me  vigiles  qui  custodiunt 
civitatem." 

"  I  sought  him,  but  I  found  him  not. 
The  watchmen  that  go  about  the  city 
found  (or  'came  upon')  me." 

Song  of  Solomon,  iii.  2,  3. 


APPENDIX  TO  CHAPTER  VHI. 


211 


11.  OBADIAH. 

Scroll :— ECCE 
PARV 
ULVM 
DEDI 
TTE 
INGE 
NTI 
BV 
S 


ABDIAS 
PfiA 

"  Ecce  parvulum  dedit  te  in  gen- 
tibus." 

"  Behold  he  has  made  thce  small 
among  the  heathen." 

Obadiah  2. 

(Vulgate  has  "dedi  :"  and  so  has 
our  Bible  "  I  have.") 


12.  JONAH. 

Scroll  :—  CLAMA 
VIADD 
OMINU 
MEEX 
AUDI 
VITME 
DETR 
IBULA 


JONAS 
PHA 

"  Clamavi  ad  dominum  et  exaudivit 
me  de  tribulation  mea." 

"  I  cried  by  reason  of  my  affliction 
to  the  Lord,  and  he  heard  m,e. " 
Jonah  ii.  2. 


N 
* 


IX.  CHRIST  AND  THE  APOSTLES.  ( See  ante,  p.  95.  §  8.) 
Passing  now  to  under  the  central  dome,  Christ  is  again 
seen  enthroned  in  the  midst,  no  longer,  however,  of  the 
prophets,  but  of  his  own  disciples.  lie  is  no  longer  the 
Messiah,  hut  the  risen  Christ.  He  wears  gold  and  red,  the 
emhlems  of  royalty  ;  his  right  hand  is  raised  in  blessing; 
his  left  holds  the  resurrection  hanner  and  a  scroll.  The 
marks  of  the  nails  are  visible  in  the  hands  and  feet  here 
only ;  they  are  not  to  be  seen,  of  course,  in  the  previous 
vaulting,  nor  are  they  in  the  third  or  altar  dome  where  he 
sits  enthroned  triumphant  as  the  Heavenly  King. 


212  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

Scroll :— EVNTES 
INMVDV 
UNIVES 

VM.PRE  "Euntes   in- mundum    universum 

DICHAT  praedicate  evangelium  omni  creaturae. 

EEVAN  Qui  crediderit  et  baptizatu(s  fuerit  sal- 

QELIV  vus  erit)." 

MOMIC  "Go  ye    into  all    the  world,   and 

REATU  preach  the  Gospel  to  every  creature. 

REQI  He    that    believeth    and    is  baptized 

CREDI  shall  be  saved." 

DERI  St.  Mark  xvi.  15,  16. 

TEBA 
PTIS 
ATU 

Below,  right  round  the  dome,  are  the  twelve  Apostles, 
baptizing  each  in  the  country  with  which  his  ministry  is 
actually  or  by  tradition  most  associated.  A  list  of  them 
has  been  already  given  (ante,  p.  96,  §  8),  with  their  coun- 
tries, except  that  of  St.  Bartholomew,  which  is  there  noted 
as  "  indecipherable."  It  is,  however,  legible  as  India. 

Each  Apostle  is  the  centre  of  a  similar  group,  consisting 
of  the  Apostle  himself,  his  convert,  in  the  moment  of  bap- 
tism, and  a  third  figure  whose  position  is  doubtful.  He 
may  be  awaiting  baptism,  already  baptized,  or  merely  an 
attendant :  in  the  group  of  St.  James  the  Less,  he  holds  a 
towel ;  in  that  of  St.  Thomas,  a  cross;  and  in  every  case  he 
wears  the  costume  of  the  country  where  the  baptism  is 
taking  place.  Thus,  to  take  the  most  striking  instances, 
St.  Philip's  Phrygian  has  the  red  Phrygian  cap  ;  St.  Peter's 
Roman  is  a  Roman  soldier ;  the  Indians  of  St.  Thomas 
and  St.  Bartholomew  are  (except  for  some  slight  variety  of 
color)  both  dressed  alike,  and  wear  turbans.  Behind 
the  figures  is  in  each  group  a  building,  also  characteristic 


APPENDIX  TO   CHAPTER  YIII.  213 

architecturally  of  the  given  country.  In  two  instances 
there  is  seen  a  tree  growing  out  of  this  building,  namely, 
in  the  case  of  Palestine  and  in  that  of  Achaia ;  but  whether 
or  no  with  any  Special  meaning  or  allusion  may  be  doubt- 
ful. 

The  inscriptions  are  as  follows  (see  ante.  p.  96) : 

SCS  IOHES  EVG  BAPTIZA         I  EFESO 

S.  IACOB  MINOR    ...     I  JUDEA 

S.  PHVLIP     ....     I FRIGIA 

S.  MATHEV  .         .    '     .         .1 ETHOPIA 

S.  SIMEON     ....     I EGIPTV 

S.  TOMAS        .         .         .         .IN  INDIA 

S.  ANDRE       .         .         .         .1  ACHAIA 

S.  PETRV      ....     IN  ROMA 

S.  BARTOLOMEV          .         .     I  INDIA 

S.  TADEV      ....     I  MESOPOTAMIA 

S.  MAT1AS     ....     I PALESTIN 

SCS  MARCTS'EVS         .         .     I ALESANDRIA 

In  this  list,  most  careful  reference  is  made,  as  has  been 
said,  to  the  various  traditions  concerning  the  places  of  each 
Apostle's  special  ministry,  the  main  tradition  being  always 
followed  in  cases  of  doubt.  Thus  St.  John  was  bishop 
of  Ephesus ;  St.  James  the  Less  bishop  of  Jerusalem,  where 
In-  received  St.  Paul,  and  introduced  him  to  the  Church; 
St.  Philip  labored  in  Phrygia,  and  is  said  to  have  died 
at  Hierapolis  ;  St.  Matthew  chiefly  in  Ethiopia ;  St.  Simeon 
in  Egypt ;  and  St.  Thomas  (though  this  may  be  by  con- 
fusion with  another  Thomas)  is  said  to  have  preached  in 
India  and  founded  the  Church  at  Malabar,  where  his  tomb 
is  shown,  and  "  Christians  of  St.  Thomas"  is  still  a  name 
for  the  Church.  So,  again,  St.  Andrew  preached  in  Achaia, 
and  was  there  crucified  at  Patrae ;  the  connection  of  St. 
Peter  with  Koine  needs  no  comment ;  both  Jerome  and 


214  ST.  MARK'S  BEST. 

Eusebius  assign  India  to  St.  Bartholomew ;  St.  Thaddseus 
or  Jude  preached  in  Syria  and  Arabia,  and  died  at  Eddessa ; 
the  first  fifteen  years  of  the  ministry  of  St.  Matias  were 
spent  in  Palestine  ;  and  lastly,  St.  Mark  is  reported  to  have 
been  sent  by  St.  Peter  to  Egypt,  and  there  founded  the 
Church  at  Alexandria. 

,X.  CHRIST  AND  THE  ANGELS. 

We  pass  lastly  to  the  altar-dome,  already  partly  de- 
scribed in  the  "  Requiem  "  chapter  of  this  book  (p.  96  §  9). 

In  the  centre  is  Christ  triumphant,  enthroned  on  the 
stars,  with  the  letters  1C  XC  once  more  on  either  side  of 
him.  In  the  circle  with  him  are  two  angels,  whose  wings 
veil  all  but  their  faces;  round  it  are  nine  other  angels, 
ruby-colored  for  love,  and  bearing  flaming  torches.  "  He 
maketh  his  angels  spirits,  and  his  ministers  a  flaming 
fire." 

Lower  down  round  the  dome  are  the  "angels  and  arch- 
angels and  all  the  company  of  heaven,"  who  "  laud  and 
magnify  His  glorious  name."  These  heavenly  agencies  are 
divided  into  three  hierarchies,  each  of  three  choirs,  and 
these  nine  choirs  are  given  round  this  vault. 

Hierarchy  I.  .  .  .  Seraphim,  Cherubim,  Thrones. 
Hierarchy  II.  .  .  .  Dominations,  Virtues,  Powers. 
Hierarchy  III  .  .  .  Princedoms,  Archangels,  Angels. 

"The  first  three  choirs  receive  their  glory  immediately  from 
God,  and  transmit  it  to  the  second;  the  second  illuminate 
the  third ;  the  third  are  placed  in  relation  to  the  created 
universe  and  man.  The  first  hierarchy  are  as  councillors; 
the  second  as  governors ;  the  third  as  ministers.  The 
Seraphim  are  absorbed  in  perpetual  love  and  adoration 
immediately  round  the  throne  of  God ;  the  Cherubim  know 


APPENDIX   TO   CHAPTER   Tin.  215 

and  worship;  the  Thrones  sustain  the  seat  of  the  Most 
High.  The  Dominations,  Virtues,  Powers,  are  the  regents 
of  the  stars  and  elements.  The  last  three  orders — Prince- 
doms, Archangels,  and  Angels — are  the  protectors  of  the 
great  monarchies  on  earth,  and  the  executors  of  the  will 
of  God  throughout  the  universe."  * 

The  visitor  can  see  for  himself  how  accurately  this  state- 
ment is  home  out  by  the  mosaics  of  the  altar-dome.  Im- 
mediately over  the  altar,  and  nearest  therefore  to  the 
presence  of  God,  is  the  Cherubim,  "  the  Lord  of  those 
that  know,"  with  the  words  "fulness  of  knowledge," 
"  plenitudo  scientise,"  on  his  heart,;  to  the  left  is  the 
Seraphim  ;  to  the  right  the  Thrones,  "  sustaining  the 
of  the  Most  High."  Further  to  the  right  come 
the  Dominations — an  armed  angel,  holding  in  one  hand 
a  balance,  in  the  other  a  spear.  In  one  scale  of  the 
balance  is  a  man,  in  the  other  the  book  of  the  law;  and 
this  latter  scale  is  being  just  snatched  at  by  a  winged  de- 
mon, who,  grovelling  on  the  ground,  turns  round  to  meet 
the  spear  of  the  angel.  Opposite  the  Dominations  are 
the  Princedoms  or  Principalities,  another  armed  angel, 
wearing  a  helmet  and  calmly  seated  among  the  stars;  and 
the  Powers  ("  potestates")  with  a  black  devil  chained  at 
his  feet.  The  Virtues  come  next,  with  a  skeleton  in  a 
grave  below,  and  at  the  back  a  pillar  of  fire ;  and,  lastly, 
the  Angels  and  Archangels, "  the  executors  of  the  will  of 
God  throughout  the  universe, "  are  seen  nearest  to  the 
gospel-dome,  standing  above  a  rocky  cave,  in  which  are 
three  figures.  They  appear  to  have  various  functions  in 
the  resurrection  ;  the  angel  holds  out  a  swathed  man  to 
the  archangel,  who  holds  a  man  (perhaps  the  same  man), 

*  Mrs.  Jameson's  "  Legendary  Art,"  p.  45. 


216  ST.  MARK'S  REST. 

from  whom  the  grave-clothes  are  falling.     Between  them 
they  thus  complete  the  resurrection  of  the  dead. 

It  remains  only  for  the  visitor  to  observe,  before  leaving 
the  chapel,  the  manner  in  which  its  different  parts  are  re- 
lated to  each  other.  Upon  the  arch  at  the  entrance  to  the 
gospel-dome  are  the  Four  Evangelists ;  on  that  which  pre- 
faces the  altar-dome,  with  its  display  of  heavenly  triumph, 
are  four  saints  "  militant  here  on  earth."  But  it  is  the 
domes  themselves  whose  meaning  is  most  evidently  con- 
nected. In  all,  the  same  Figure  is  seen  in  the  centre, 
surrounded  in  the  iirst  by  the  prophets  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, in  the  second  by  the  Apostles,  in  the  third  by  the 
heavenly  choirs,  the  three  together  thus  proclaiming  the 
promise,  the  ministry,  and  the  triumph  of  the  prophesied, 
crucified  and  glorified  Christ. 

SANCTUS,  SANCTUS,  SANCTUS, 
DOMINUS,  DEUS,  OMNIPOTENS, 
QUI  ERAT.QUI  EST,  EST  QUI  VENTUKUS  EST. 

Rev.  iv.  8. 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


Abraham,  St.  Mark's  Baptistery,  mosaic,  209. 

Adams'  "  Venice  Past  and  Present,"  quoted,  18  n. 

Adder  coiled,  symbolical  of  eternity,  173. 

Age,  feelings  of  old,  151. 

Alexis,  Emperor,  and  Venice,  67. 

Altinum,  Bishop  of,  founds  early  Venetian  churches,  61. 

Anderson,  J.  R.,  on  Carpaccio,  1  S.  pref . ;  St.  George,  1  S.  115;  2  S. 

154;  St.  Jerome,  1  S.  124,  seq. 
Angelico,  his  religion  sincere,  pref.,  iv. 
Angels,  the  hierarchies  of,  82,  214;  sculpture  of,  43. 
Animals,  place  of,  in  European  Chivalry,  23 ;  Venetian  love  of,  62. 
Apostles,  baptizing  (St.  Mark's  Baptistery),  80  seq.,  212  seq. 

"        scenes  of  their  ministry,  212. 
Arabesques,  of  Carpaccio,  1  S.,  119. 
Architecture,  an  '  order  '  of,  12. 
Art,  great,  combines  grace  and  fitness,  12. 

"    always  instinctive,  pref.  iii. 

"    depends  on  national  sympathy,  pref.  iv. 

"    as  material  of  history,  pref.  iv.  seq. 

"    the  faithful  witness,  pref.  iv. 
Ascalon,  not  attacked  by  Venice,  5. 
Ascension,  mosaic  of  the,  St.  Mark's,  105. 
Assisi,  Giotto's  chapel  at,  1  S.  134. 
Assyria,  gods  of,  101. 
Athena,  85. 
Athens  and  Ton,  73. 
Author,  the — 

diary  quoted  on  Carpaccio's  at  Milan  (Sept.  6,  1876),  1  S.  137. 
drawings  of  St.  George's  viper  (1872),  1  S.  117. 

of  Carpaccio's  parrot,  1  S.,  118. 
"         earliest,  of  St.  Mark's,  75. 


220  INDEX. 

Author,  the  (continued) — 
errors  of  his  early  teaching,  55. 

feelings  of,  in  advancing  years,  not  disabled  but  enabled,  2  S.  151. 
knowledge  of  Greek  myths,  73  n. 
plan  for  collecting  records  of  St.  Mark's,  106  n. 
protestantism  of  (see  "  religion"), 
religion  and  early  religious  teaching,  19,  75-76. 

"        ite  effect  on  his  early  work  in  Venice,  55. 
teaching  of,  not  a  discoverer,  2  S.  152,  153. 

"        abhors  doctrine  for  proof,  system  for  usefulness,  2  S.  152. 
"        a  "  true  master,"  ib. 

"        his  disciples  not  "  Ruskinians,"  but  free,  152. 
books  of,  referred  to — 

Ariadne  Florentina,  p.  (203)  84. 
Examples  of  Venetian  Architecture,  86. 
Fors  Clavigera,  purchasable  in  Venice,  38  n  . 
iii.  Feb.  (on  St.  George),  38  n. 
"  "         iv.,p.  125  ('Punch'),  71  n. 

"  "         vi.  110,  178-203  (on  Psalm  Ixxvi.),  22. 

"  "         vii.  75,  gondolier  and  dog,  63. 

"  "         vii.  68,  on  St.  Theodore,  23. 

Michael  Angelo  and  Tintoret,  pref .  v. 

St.  Mark's  Rest,  delay  in  issue  of  2d  Supplement,  2  S.  185  n. 
"  "      scheme  of  and  plans  for,  iv.,  2  n. 

"  "      sold  in  Venice,  38  n. 

"  "      style  of,  pref.  iv. 

"  "      Supplement  I.,  why  issued,  1  S.  pref. 

Stones  of  Venice,  errors  of,  and  Author's  protestantism,  76. 
"  "       quoted,  129,  147,  50  n. 

"  "       republication  of,  planned,  pref.  iv. 

"  "St.  Mark's,  description  of,  75. 

Baldwin,  king  of  Jerusalem,  3. 

Baptism  of  Christ  (St.  Mark's  mosaic),  197. 

Baptist,  the,  Life  of  (St.  Mark's  mosaic),  191. 

Bari,  William  of,  at  siege  of  Tyre,  7. 

Baruch's  roll,  pref.  iv. 

Basilicans,  the  only  order  of  the  Greek  Church,  206. 

Basilisk,  Carpaccio's,  1  S.  118. 

Bellini,  Gentile,  picture  of  Venice,  53. 


INDEX. 


221 


Bellini,  Gentile,  picture  of  St.  Mark's  facade,  83,  84,  88. 
Bellini  Giovanni,  vaults  of,  82,  83. 

"  "          Correr  Museum  (Transfiguration),  1  S.  144  n. 

"  "          pictures  by  in  the  Frari,  St.  Zaccaria,  1  S.  141. 

Bewick,  1  S.  141. 
Bible  quoted — 


<;cnr.-is  xxi 209 

Numbers  xvi.  13 66 

2  Kings  ii.  12 208 

"      xzv.  7 66 

Proverbs  iii.  17 IS.  127 

vii.  5,  17 72 

Psalm  ii.  7 210 

"      xlv.8 72 

"      Ixxii.  10.  11 200 

"      Ixxvi.  (Vulgate  and  Italian 

versions) 20 

Song  of  Solomon  iii.  2,  3 210 

Isaiah  vii.  14 208 

"     xi.  8 101 

"     xxiii.2 33 

Jeremiah  xvii.  9 56 

Ezekiel  i 95  seq. 

xi.  16,  19,  22 97 

Hosea  vi.  1 . .  208 

Joel  ii.  29 210 

Obadiah2 211 

Jonah  ii.  2. . . .  . .  211 


Zephaniah,  iii.  8.  207 

St.  Matthew  ii.  2 200 

ii.  16 202 

"         iii.  16,  17 198 

v.8-11 104 

"         x,  22 103 

St.  Mark  vi .  21 ,  26 198, 199 

"      xvi.  15,  16 212 

St.  Luke  i.  9,  11 193 

"      21-22 193 

"      63 ib. 

"      80 195 

"      xiv.  33 IS.  120 

"      xix.  8 IS.  122 

"      xix.  17 IS.  122 

St.  John  i.  25 197 

"      i.29 191 

"      xix.  26-27 ib. 

Romans  v.  12 IS.  128 

Galatians  ii.  20 102 

1  Thess.  ii.  18 28.  185 

Rev.  iv.  8 100,  216 


Birds,  chased  by  Venetian  boys,  63  ;  legend  of,  and  churches  of  Venice, 

2. 

Bolton  Abbey,  31. 
Bribery,  71. 

Brides  of  Venice,  1  S.  113. 
British  Museum,  Cotton  MS.,  pref.  iv. 
Buckle's  civilization,  26. 
Byzantine  art,  mythical,  90. 

"    St.  Mark's  typical  of,  78. 
Byzantium  conquered  by  Venice,  78. 

Camerlenghi,  treasurers  of  Venice,  26. 

Cape  of  Good  Hop",  discovery  of,  ruins  Venice,  28. 

Capitals,  laws  of  their  treatment,  14.  17. 

"        of  twelfth  to  fourteenth  centuries,  14,  18. 


222  INDEX. 

Cardinals,  Carpaccio's  satire  on,  1  S.  142. 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  R.'s  master,  1  S.  124. 

"  "JEarly  Kings  of  Norway  "  quoted,  66  n. 

"  Sterling,  Life  of,  1  S.  124;  and  of  Werner,  124. 

Carpaccio  :  (1)  General  Characteristics  of  his  Art,  1  S.  136;  Its  Char- 
acteristics, 137;  (2)  Details  of  his  pictures;  (3)  Particular 
pictures. 

(1)  General  Characteristics  of  Ms  Art : — 
composition  of,  1  S.  119. 

details  have  important  meanings  with,  1  S.  129. 

and  Luini,  1  S.  140. 

religion,  as  animating  the  present  world,  1  S.  147  n. 

satire  of,  1  S.  142,  146. 

sense  of  humour,  and  power  of  seriousness,  1  S.  122. 

simplicity,  strength,  and  joy,  1  S.  115-116. 

study  of,  feelings  requisite  to  the,  1  S.  136. 

symbolism,  1  S.  147. 

(2)  Details  of  his  Pictures : — 
arabesques  (S.  Tryphonius),  i.  S.  119. 
dogs,  i.  S.  118. 

parrot,  i.  S.  118. 

signatures  of,  lovely,  i.  S.  128. 

vaults  of,  82,  84. 

(3)  Particular  Pictures  of: — 
Agony  in  the  Garden,  i.  S.  120. 

St.  George  and  Dragon  series,  23;  1  S.  117  seq.,  130;  2  S.  166  seq 

St.  Jerome,  1  S.  124,  128,  130. 

St.  Mary  and  Elizabeth  (Correr  Museum),  1  S.  144. 

St.  Matthew,  calling  of  (St.  Giorgio  dei  Schiavoni),  1  S.  120. 

St.  Stephen  (Brera  Gallery,  Milan),  1  S.  138. 

St.  Tryphonius  (St.  Giorgio  dei  Schiavoni),  1  S.  118. 

St.  Ursula  series  (Accademia,  Venice),  1  S.  144,  146. 

Venetian  ladies  and  their  pets  (Correr  Museum),  in  what  sense 
the  best  existing  picture,  1  S.  141,  142. 

Virgin  (Brera  Gallery,  Milan),  1  S.  138. 

youthful  sketches  by,  St.  Alvise,  i.  S.  134. 
Carpets,  Eastern,  1  S.  115. 

Catholicism,  mediaeval,  as  shown  by  Carpaccio,  1  S.  145. 
Ceilings  painted,  Venice,  1.  S.  134. 
Cephalonia,  taken  by  Venice,  1  S.  119. 


INDEX.  223 

Cerberus,  Dante's,  23. 

Charity.  St.  Mark's  mosaic,  103. 

Cheese,  lessons  in  capital  carving,  by  use  of,  15  seq. 

Cherubim,  the  St.  Mark's  Baptistery,  80. 

Chivalry,  places  of  animals  in,  '2-'>. 

"        of  Venice  and  the  West,  A.D.  1100,  66. 
Chomley,  Countess  Isabel,  legend  translated  by,  60  n. 
Christ  and  the  Angels,  St.  Mark's  Baptistery,  197. 

"      and  the  Apostles,         "  "  80. 

"      baptism  of,  "  "  197. 

"       infancy  of,  "  "  200. 

"      and  the  Prophets,       "  "  207. 

"       modern  lives  of,  102. 

"  "saves  the  lost,"  1  S.  122. 
Christianity,  development  of,  58. 
Churches  of  Venice,  legend  of  their  foundation,  61. 

"         guide  to  points  of  compass  in,  37  n. 

See  'Venice,'  and  under  names  of  particular  churches,  29. 
Churchyards,  02. 
Cimabue,  81. 

Classical  learning  and  Venice,  53. 
Clermont-Ganneau  on  St.  George.  S.  154.. 
Cockneyism,  3,  77,  105,  119. 
Coinage,  leathern  of  Doge  Domenico,  Michiel,  2. 
Color,  Venetian  feeling  for,  69. 

Corner,  Flaminio,  on  St.  Giorgio  dei  Schiavoni,  1  S.  112. 
Correr  Museum,  woodcut  maps  of  Venice  (1480)  in,  19. 

Carpaccio's  "  Venetian  Ladies,"  1  S.  141. 
Cotton  MS..  British  Museum,  pref.  vi.  60. 
Creusa  (Euripides'  "  Ion  "),  73  n. 
Croisefs  office  of  the  B.  V.  M.,  20. 
Crowe  and  Cavalcasella,  1  S.  127,  135,  136. 
Crucifixion.  St.  Murk's  Baptistery,  118. 
Crusades.  Venice  and  the,  50. 
Customs,  blinding  of  deposed  Doges,  65. 

pillage  of  palace  on  election  of  Doge,  69  n. 
Cybele,  temple  of,  204. 

Dalmatia,  attacked  by  Byzantium,  9. 
Damascus,  and  siege  of  Tyre,  7,  5. 


224  INDEX. 

Dandolo,  Doge  Andrea,  chronicle  of,  6,  7,  77  n. 

"  "  legend  of  Venetian  Churches,  60,  61. 

"  "  his  tomb,  St.  Mark's  Baptistery,  60  n. 

"        Henry,  84;  adorns  church  of  St.  James  of  the  Rialto,  29. 
Dante's  grasp  of  theology,  23. 

"        Cerberus  (Canto  vi.),  23. 
Darwinism,  15,  1  S.  118. 
Dates,  recollection  of,  25,  49. 
David,  piety  and  soldiership  of,  71. 
"       mosaic  of,  St.  Mark's  Baptistery,  189. 
"  "  "      ,  eastern  dome,  89. 

.  Death,  commonplace  about  blessedness  of,  1  S.  128. 
Decoration,  not '  a  superficial  merit,'  17. 
De  Hooghe,  chiaroscuro  of,  1  S.  141. 
Delphi,  oracle  of,  pref.  v. 
Dogs,  Carpaccio's,  St.  George's,  1  S.  118. 

St.  Jerome's,  23,  1  S.  125. 
Doges,  blinding  of  five  deposed,  421-1100,  65. 
"       election  of  (Doge  Selvo),  69  seq. 

"       See  under  Domenico  Michiel,  St.  Pietro  Urseolo,  Selvo. 
Doge's  palace,  pillage  of,  on  election  of  Doge,  70,  71  n. 
Domenico,  Michiel,  Doge,  9. 

"       and  conquest  of  Tyre,  2  seq. 
"       dismantles  his  ships,  7  n. 
' '       leathern  coinage  of,  8. 
"       sieges  Egean  isles  and  Cephalonia,  9. 
"       closing  years  and  death,  10. 
"       tomb  of  (San  Giorgio  Maggiore),  10. 
Doubt,  religious  feeling  of,  58.  seq. 
Dragon,  Carpaccio's,  1  S.  121,  2  S.  159. 
Drapery,  good  and  bad,  41. 
Ducal  Palace,  see  <  Venice— Ducal  Palace, '13. 
Dumas,  1  S.  135. 

Durer's  engraving  of  St.  Mark's  Lion,  18. 
Durham  Cathedral,  18. 

Edinburgh,  Prince's  street,  asphalted,  32  n. 
Egean  islands,  seized  by  Venice,  9. 
Egypt,  dragon  of,  22,  26. 
"       flight  into,  201. 


INDEX.  225 

Egypt,  gods  of,  146. 

' :        and  siege  of  Tyre,  6,  7. 
Eliab,  sons  of,  66. 

Elijah,  mosaic  of,  St.  Mark's  Baptistery,  209. 
Emerson  referred  to,  38. 

England,  abbeys  of,  their  quiet  peace,  1  S.  115. 
"         classical  architecture  of,  45. 
"         commerce,  39,  76. 
"  "          and  greed  of  money,  3. 

religion  of,  1200-1400,  58. 
Euripides'  '  Ion '  quoted,  73  n. 
Europe,  course  of  history,  53. 
Evangelical  doctrine  of  salvation,  1  S.  121. 
Evangelion  and  prophecy,  04. 
Evangelists,  the,  beasts  of  the,  101. 

(St.  Mark's  mosaics),  99, 198. 
"  gospels  of,  1  S.  120. 

"  sculpture  of  (St.  Mark's),  38. 

Executions,  between  Piazzetta  pillars,  14. 
Eyes,  putting  out  the,  66. 
Ezekiel's  vision,  95. 

Faith  and  reason,  58. 

Fathers,  the  Greeks  and  Latin,  202  seq. 

Fawn  in  Carpaocio's  '  Virgin,'  Brera,  Milan,  1  S.  139. 

Fishing  in  early  Venice,  59 

Florence,  sacred  pictures  of,  1  S.  147. 

"         Spezieria  of  S.  M.  Novella,  73. 
Forks,  thought  a  luxury,  72. 
'  Fors '  and  the  author,  63. 

"       ordering  of  events  by.  S.  153. 
Foscarini,  on  Doge  Selvo's  election,  69  n. 
France,  religion  of,  1150-1350,  58. 

Gabriel,  Archangel,  St.  Mark's  bas-reliefs,  36. 
Geryon,  1  S.  116. 
Gesta  Dei,  quoted,  4,  5  n. 
Giotto's  chapel  at  Assisi,  1  S.  134. 

Giocondo,  Fra,  makes  designs  for  Venice  after  1513  fire,  29 
Giorgione's  frescoes,  26 ;  arrangement  of  masses,  1  S.  131. 
10* 


226  INDEX. 

Giustina,  church  to  S.,  founded,  62. 
Gordon,  Rev.  0.,  on  Ps.  Ixxxvi.,  22. 
Goschen,  Mr.,  1  S.  121. 
Gothic,  foliage,  origin  of  Venetian,  48. 
Greek  acanthus,  85. 

"      art,  but  one  school  of,  78. 

"       "    its  aim,  first  instruction,  then  beauty,  79. 

"      capitals,  15. 

"      harpy,  82. 

"      myths  (Euripides  and  Pindar),  73  n. 

"      temple  of  the  Dew,  72. 

"      Thronos  on  St.  Mark's,  38. 

"      work  on  St.  Mark's,  47,  48,  73,  77,  78. 
Guiscard,  and  Doge  Selvo,  67  seq. 

"          "  the  soldier  par  excellence  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  71. 
Gunpowder,  59. 

Ilcraclea,  Venetian  villas  at,  59. 

Hercules,  47 ;  labours  of,  St.  Mark's  bas-relief,  36. 

Herod  and  St.  John  Baptist,  81,  198;  and  the  wise  men,  200. 

Herodias,  type  of  evil  womanhood,  83. 

Historians,  sectarianism  of,  55. 

History,  the  course  of  European,  53. 

"        transitional  period  of,  34. 

"        the  materials  of,  a  nation's  acts,  words,  and  art,  pref.  p.  v. 

"        how  to  read,  58. 
Holbein's  jewel-painting,  1  S.  143. 
Horses  of  St.  Mark,  83,  84. 
Hunt,  William,  32. 

Idleness,  evils  of,  59. 
Infidelity,  signs  of,  in  art,  41. 

"         modern,  59. 

Innocents,  Holy  (St.  Mark's  Mosaics),  202. 
Inscription  on  St.  James  di  Rial  to,  27. 

"          on  St.  Mark's  mosaics,  102.  , 

Baptistery,  189-216  passim. 

Inscription  on  tomb  of  Doge  Domenico  Michael,  10. 
Inspiration  and  the  Church,  1  S.  147. 
Ion  and  Athens,  78. 


INDEX.  227 

Irish  decoration,  85. 

"     savagery,  CiG. 
Italian  revolution  and  Venice,  9. 

Jameson,  Mrs.  '  Legendary  Art,'  quoted,  215. 
Jeremiah    St.  Murk's  Baptistery,  209. 
Jerusalem,  Holy  Sepulchre,  arches  of  the,  86. 

Baldwin,  king  of,  at  Venice,  3. 
Johnson,  Dr.,  penance  of,  77. 

Jones,  E.  Burne,  helps  R.  re  St.  Mark's  mosaics,  106. 
Jordan,  river  god  of  the,  197. 

Kensington  schools,  1  S.  119. 
Knight,  a,  of  the  15th  century,  40. 

Landseer,  Sir  E.,  1. 

Latr.itor  Anubis,  12  seq. ;  meaning  of,  21. 

Legomla  Aurea,  the,  on  St.  George,  2  S.  181. 

Legend  of  foundation  of  Venetian  churches,  61. 

Leucothea,  63. 

Lindsay,  Lord,  '  Christian  Art '  of,  76. 

Lion,  St.  Jerome's,  23. 

"     St.  Mark's,  Venice  (see  St.  Mark's). 
London,  fire  of,  1;  the  Monument,  2  ;  Nelson  column,  2. 
Longhena's  tomb  of  Doge  Dom.  Michiel,  10. 
Lord's  Prayer,  the,  and  mediaeval  chivalry,  57. 
Lorcnzi,  M.,  helps  It.,  G9  n. 
Lotteries  in  old  and  new  Venice,  14  n. 
Luini  and  Carpaccio,  1  S.  137,  139,  140. 
Luxury,  mediaeval,  how  symbolized,  1  S.  143. 

"         of  Venice,  and  her  fate,  50. 
Lydda,  church  of  St.  George  at,  2  S.  159. 

Madonna  on  St.  James  di  Rialto,  20,  30. 

Mantegna's  "  Transfiguration,"  Correr  Museum,  1  S.  144. 

St.  Sebastian,  1  S.  146. 
Mariegola,  of  St.  Theodore,  19,  23. 
Mazorbo,  63. 
Memnon,  38 
Merlin,  72. 


228  INDEX. 

M.  Angelo,  pref.  v. 

Milan,  Monasterio  Maggiore,  Luini's  St.  Stephen,  1  S.  137. 

Milan,  Brera  Gallery,  Carpaceio's  in,  1  S.  137. 

Modesty,  St.  Mark's  mosaic,  114. 

Monasticisra,  as  explained  by  Carpaccio's  St.  Jerome,  1  S,  104, 126,  127 

Mosaics,  of  St.  Mark's  (see  under  "  Venice — St.  Mark's"),  189. 

Muratori's  edition  of  Sanuto,  2  n. 

Murray,  C.  F.,  1  S.  123,  1  S.  139,  1  S.  144. 

,  John,  Guide  to  Venice,  on  Piazzetta  pillars,  1. 

"         "  "  St.  James  di  Kialto,  30,  31. 

"         "  "  St.  Mark's  Lion,  95. 

"         "        Sketches  of  Venetian  History,  3. 

Napoleon  I.,  2. 

Natal  is  Ilegia,  rebuilds  St.  James  di  Rialto,  1531,  30. 

Nelson  column,  2. 

Nicholas  of  the  Barterers,  sets  up  Piazzetta  pillars,  14 

Norman  architecture,  savagery  of,  15. 

Northumbrian  architecture,  clumsy  work  in,  15. 

Oath  of  Venetian  magistrates  at  Tyre,  8. 

Olaf,  blinds  King  Raerik,  66  n. 

Oxford  schools,  author's  drawings  at,  1  S.  116,  117. 

Pall  Mall,  60. 

Palladio,  10. 

Palm  trees,  in  Carpaccio's  St.  George,  meaning  of,  2  S.  179 

Paris,  Vendome  column,  1. 

Parliament,  English,  party  politics,  3. 

Parrot,  Carpaccio's,  1  S.  117. 

Parthenon  bas-reliefs,  39. 

Perfumes,  use  of,  72,  73 ;  manufacture  of  by  Florentine  monks,  ib. 

Perseus  and  St.  George,  2  S.  160. 

Persia  and  St.  George,  2  S.  161. 

Perugia,  canopy  at,  83. 

Pcrugino,  1  S.  123. 

Petroleum.  50. 

Piazzetta  pillars  (see  under  "Venice— Piazzetta  pillars  "),1. 

Pindar,  and  Greek  myths,  73  n. 

Political  Economy,  59. 


INDEX.  229 

Practice  with  fingers  teaches  eyes,  15. 

Pniyer  Book,  quoted,  100. 

Printing,  discovery  of,  58;  and  Venice,  46. 

Progress,  modern,  in  Venice,  ;!1  :  and  inventions,  52. 

Prophets,  mosaics  of,  St.  Mark's  altar-dome,  98;  baptistery,  202. 

Proportion  and  propriety,  distinct,  12. 

Protestantism,  'private  judgment,'  20,  21,  75,  70,  1  S.  124,  145. 

'  Punch,'  on  Bishop  Wilberforce,  71;  March  15,  1879,  77. 

Purple,  By/ant  ine,  99. 

Rahab,  meaning  of  in  Ps.  Ixxxvi.,  21. 

Raphael,  teaching  of  in  art,  43  (see  "  S.  Raphael"). 

Reason  and  Faith,  58. 

'Red  and  White  Clouds,'  chap.  vi. 

Religion,  of  early  Christian  chivalry,  57. 

"        and  doubt,  53  seq. 
."        stage  between  faith  and  reason,  58. 

"        of  Venice,  44  seq. ;  the  keynote  (with  art)  of  her  history,  46. 
Renaissance,  and  revival  of  learning,  52. 
Restoration,  evil  of  illustrated,  84. 
Rial  to,  meaning  of,  31,  '•'>'•!. 

Rivers,  named  from  color  or  clearness,  rarely 'from  depth,  31. 
Roman  Empire  and  Venice,  49. 

Rornanin,  5  n.  9;  on  Rialto,  31,  32;  on  Selvo's  election,  69  n. 
Rosamond  and  her  father's  skull,  58. 
Rubens,  1  S.  125. 
Ruskin.  Mr.     See  "  Author." 

Sabra  and  St.  George,  40. 

"     her  symbolical  meaning,  2  S.  183. 
Saint  Alvise,  Venice,  ceiling  of,  1  S.  134. 

"      Ambrose,  St.  Mark's  Baptistery,  207. 

"      Anthony          '   "  "  203. 

"      Athanasius         "  "  205. 

"      Augustine  "  "  200. 

"      Basil  "  "  206. 

"      ( 'lit  hhert's  book,  pref.  iv. 

"     Demetrius,  St.  Mark's  bas-relief,  47;  warrior  saint,  204. 

"      Donato's  body  brought  to  Venice,  9. 

"      Francis  and  the  birds,  63. 


230  INDEX. 

Saint  Gabriel,  St.  Mark's  bas-relief,  47. 
"      George,  his  function  and  meaning,  19,  204;  2  S.  167. 
"  "        history  of,  2  S.  152  seq. 

"  "        and  the  princess,  legend  quoted,  2  S.  181. 

"  "        connection  with  Perseus,  and  Persia,  2  S.  161. 

"  "        horse  of,  its  colour,  by  Carpaccio  and  Tintoret,  2  S.  166. 

"  "        pictures  of,  Carpaccio's,  22, 1-  S.  114  seq.,  116. 

"  "        Porphyrio,  "Bird  of  Chastity,"  23. 

"  "        sculptures  of,  in  Venice,  86,  38,  40,  41,  47. 

"  sheathing  his  sword,"  38. 
"  "        shield  of,  burnished,  2  S.  8. 

"      George's  Museum,  Sheffield,  casts  of  St.  Mark's,  85. 
"     Giorgio  dei  Schiavoni  (see  "  Carpaccio,"  and  "  Venice  "). 

"      Maggiore,  2. 

"      Giovanni  in  Bragola,  church  to,  founded,  68. 

"      e  Paolo,  tombs  in  church  of,  10. 

"      Giustina,  church  to/rfounded,  62. 

"      Gregory  the  Great,  St.  Mark's  Baptistery,  206. 

"      Nazianzen  "  "  205. 

"      Isidore's  body  brought  to  Venice,  9. 

"  "       (St.  Mark's  mosaic),  190  and  n. 

"     James  di  Rialto,  history  of,  26  seq.,  chap.  iii. 

"  inscription  on,  29,  105. 

"  "  "  discovered  by  author,  92. 

"  interior  of,  29. 

"      Jerome,  no  good  biography  of,  1  S.  125. 

"        Carpaccio's  pictures  of,  1  S.  122  seq.  (lion);  128  (burial); 

129  (in  Heaven). 
"          "        his  lion  and  dog,  23. 

"        mosaic  of  St.  Mark's  Baptistery,  207.    v 
"          "        teaching  of,  21;  1  S.  125. 
"      John  Chrysostom  (mosaic),  205. 
"      Louis'  part  of  Venice,  1  S.  133. 
"      Maria  Formosa,  church  to,  founded,  61. 
"      Mark,  recovery  of  his  body  (mosaic  of),  92. 
"     Mark's  church,  etc.,  Venice  (see  "  Venice,  St.  Mark's  "). 
"      Matthew,  calling  of,  1  S.  120;  gospel  of,  1  S.  120. 
"      Mercury,  147. 

"      Nicholas  of  the  Lido,  68;  mosaic  of,  201. 
"      Pietro  Urseolo,  Doge,  203. 


INDEX.  231 

Saint  Raphael,  church  of,  founded,  61. 

"      Stephen,  Carpaccio's,  Brcra,  Milan,  1  S.  137. 

"      Theodore,  1. 

"  "  Ms  body  at  Venice,  1450,  24. 

"  "  "  the  chair  seller,"  35,  iv.  ;  meaning  of,  47. 

"  "  church  to,  on  site  of  St.  Mark's,  101. 

"  "          mosaic  of,  St.  Mark's,  204. 

"  "  patron  of  Venice,  19. 

"  "  statue  of,  Piazzetta  pillar,  12. 

"  "  "          St.  Salvador,  42. 

his  teaching,  19,  23. 

"      Tryphonius  and  the  Basilisk,  Carpaccio's,  1  S.  118;  2  S.  155. 
"      Zaccaria.  church  of,  founded,  61.  % 

Salt-works  of  early  Venice,  59. 
Samplers,  English,  1  S.  115. 
Samson  and  Delilah,  T'^. 
'Sanctus,  Sanctus,  Sanctus,'  189,  216. 
Sand,  George,  1  S.  124,  135. 
Sansovino,  on  election  of  Doge  Selvo,  69. 

"  rebuilds  at  Venice,  1513,  27. 

Sanuto,  Marin,  2-5. 

Scarpagnino  rebuilds  at  Venice,  1513,  27. 
Scepticism,  modern,  95. 
Science,  modern,  its  effect  on  belief,  54-59. 
Sclavonians  and  Venice,  1  S.  113. 
Scott,  Sir  \V. ,  "  Fortunes  of  Xigel,"  its  moral,  14  n. 

"  "  Talisman,"  its  errors,  77. 

Sculpture  above  Ponte  dei  Baratteri,  39. 

*'         rise  and  fall  of  Venetian,  chap,  iv.,  40. 
Selvo,  Doge,  history  of,  GO  seq.  (see  St.  George,  sculpture  of. 
' '         mosaics  of  St.  Mark's,  94. 

rebuilds  St.  James  di  Rialto,  1073,  29. 
"         wife  of,  Greek,  72. 
'Shadow  on  the  Dial,'  the,  chap.  5. 
Shafts  and  capitals,  relations  of,  12. 
Shakspere,  Hamlet,  55. 

"         King  Lear,  blinding  of  (Hosier  in,  65. 

"         Merchant  of  Venice  (Shylock),  25. 

"        Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  '  If  I  should  as  lion,'l  S.  123. 

"        Much  Ado  about  Nothing  (Dogberry),  39. 


232  INDEX. 

Shakspere,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  '  Ask  for  him  to-morrow,  1  S.  122. 

Sheffield,  author's  plans  for,  6. 

Shells,  in  Carpaccio's  '  St.  George,'  2  S.  175. 

Ships,  dismantling  of  Venetian,  7. 

Skull,  in  Carpaccio's  •  St.  George,'  2  S.  179. 

Smoke  pestilence,  modern,  63. 

Snyders,  1  S.  125. 

Solomon,  love  of  fine  things,  71. 

"        St.  Mark's  mosaics,  99,  210. 

"        Queen  of  Sheba  and,  Carpaccio's,  38,  1  S.  140. 
Sorrow,  feeling  under,  54  seq. 
Spirals,  Greek  and  Northern,  85. 
Spoon,  story  of  child's  love  for  a  wooden,  91. 
Symbolism,  growth  of,  in  art,  40,  42. 

Tempera,  use  of,  1  S.  142;  by  Carpaccio  and  Tintoret,  ib. 

Temptation,  the,  mosaic  of,  St.  Mark's,  90. 

Thrones,  of  the  world,  38. 

Theories  of  belief,  53,  54  seq. 

Tiepolo's  ceiling,  St.  Alvise,  1  S.  134. 

Tintoret,  '  mightiest  of  the  Venetians,'  pref.  viii. 

"         death  of,  and  fall  of  Venice  (1594),  50. 

"         '  rushing  force '  of,  1  S.  123. 

"         studied  Carpaccfo,  2  S.  156. 

"         tempera  used  by,  and  E.'s  praise  of,  1  S.  142. 
Titian,  color  of,  1  S.  141. 
"       frescoes  of,  27. 
"       religion  of,  assumed,  pref.  vi. 
Trade,  modern,  58. 

Trades  of  Venice,  St.  Mark's  mosaics,  89. 

Tree,  removal  of,  from  before  Accademia,  Venice  (Feb.,  1877),  32. 
Turner,  could  not  beat  Carpaccio's  paroquet,  1  S.  143. 
Tyre,  burden  of,  chap.  i. 

"     siege  of,  chap,  i.,  p.  1,  5-7;  surrender  of,  8. 
"      oath  of  Vene\jan  magistrates  at,  8.       . 

Upholstery,  modern,  1  S.  135. 
Van  Byck,  detail  of,  1  S.  141. 


INDEX.  233 

Venice:  (1)  Her  Character  and  Art;  (2)  Her  History;  (3)  Architecture, 
Painting,  and  Sculpture ;  (4)  Modern  Venice. 

(1)  Her  Character  and  her  Art: — 

Her  ambition,  its  objects,  2,  4. 

"    aristocracy,  its  growth,  52. 

"    art,  the  best  material  "for  her  history,  pref.  v. 

"      "    its  growth  shown,  37  seq.,  43,  46,  91 ;  recapitulated.  46. 
aspect  of  early,  63. 

change  from  Eastern  to  Western  temper,  18. 
character,  love  of  home,  of  animals,  of  colour,  62  seq. 
chivalry  learnt  from  Normans,  49,  52. 
Christianity  of,  learnt  from  Greeks,  49. 
commerce,  '24,  27. 
council,  in  deciding  on  war,  4. 
deliberateness  of  action,  66. 
doges,  treatment  of  deposed,  65-8. 
fall  of,  50,  53;  and  gambling,  15. 
intellectual  death  of,  46. 
modern  debasement,  47. 
home  life  of  early,  62. 
people  of,  mosaic  of  doge  and,  93. 
piety  and  covetousness  of,  3. 

religion  of,  1300-1500,  chap,  v.,  49  seq.;  1  S.  pref. 
relics,  at  last  despised  by,  27. 
revival  of  learning  and,  52. 
Rome's  influence  on,  53. 
understand,  how  to,  20-55. 

(2)  Her  History:— 

progressive,  but  its  periods  distinct,  34. 
four  periods  of,  (a)  formation,  421-1100,  49. 

(b)  establishment,  1100-1301,  49-50. 

(e)  meditation,  1301-1520,  50. 

(<f)  luxury  and  fall,  1520-1600. 
tells  her  own  story,  35. 
errors  of  her  historians,  34. 
religion  and  arts,  its  keynotes,  50. 
alliance  with  Alexis  against  Guiscard,  67. 


234  INDEX. 

Venice  (continued) — 

conquers  Byzantium,  9. 

colonies  in  Asia,  9. 

fire  of  1513,  27. 

founded  4'31,  25. 

war  with  Guiscard.  67  seq. 

mercenary  army,  28. 

war  with  Saracens,  3  seq.,  4,  5. 

Serrar  del  Consiglio  (period  ii.),  50-3. 

conquers  Tyre,  8. 

(3)  Architecture,  Painting,  and  Sculpture  of: — 

Academy,  Carpaccio's  St.  Ursula,  1  S.  144. 
Camerlenghi  Palace,  26. 
Ducal  Palace  built,  51. 

pillars  of  arcade  baseless,  and  why,  12,  13, 

capitals  of  upper  arcade,  17. 

Foscari  Palace,  sunset,  33. 
Gobbo  di  Rialto,  28  n. 
Grand  Canal  at  sunset,  33. 
Jean  d'Acre  pillars,  85. 
Labia,  palace,  45. 
Merceria,  26-39. 
Piazzetta.  pillars  of  the,  1. 

"  "       the  most  beautiful  in  the  world,  2;  and  why, 

12. 

"  "       capitals  and  bases   of,  13,    14  (history  of  not 

known). 
/'  "       date  of  (12th  century),  15. 

"  "       famous  and  why,  1  seq. 

"  "       history  of,  11,  14. 

"  "       match  each  other,  and  how,  13. 

"  "       St.  Theodore  and  St.  Mark's  Lion,  on,  18,  19. 

"  "       space  between,  how  ijsed,  14. 

"  "       steps  of  restored,  12  n. 

Ponte  de'  Barrateri,  sculpture  near  the,  39. 
St.  Alvise,  ceiling  of,  1  S.  134. 
St.  Antonin,  campo  di,  1  S.  111. 
St.  Bartholomew's  Square,  26. 


INDEX.  235 

Venice  (continued) — 

St.  Giorgio  dei  Schiavoni,  23. 

foundation  of,  1,  S.  113;  S.  1. 

"  "  interior  of,  1,  S.  114,  and  see  "  Car- 

paccio." 

Maggiore,  2,  10,  11. 

St.  James  di  liialto,  46  seq. ;  history  of,  27. 

St.  John  Eleemosynario,  campanile,  29. 

St.  Julian,  39. 

St.  Louis'  Quarter,  1  S.  133. 

St.  Margaret's  Campo,  32. 

St.  Mark's  Church,  built,  51. 

baptistery  of,  80  seq.;  plan  of,  192;  mosaics, 

189  seq. 

"  campanile,  lotteries  beneath,  14  n. 

"  "         facade  of,  36. 

"  "  "  temp.  Gentile  Bellini,  83. 

"  "         horses  of,  83. 

"       ,       "         northwest  corner  of,   sculpture  of  apostles, 

39. 

"  "         porches  of,  bas-reliefs  on,  47. 

"  "         tomb  of  Doge  A.  Dandolo,  GO. 

"  "         mosaics  of,  99. 

"  "  "        designs  of  Veronese,  90. 

"  "  "        collection  of  records  of,  189. 

"  "  "        central  archivolt,  bad,  SO. 

"  "  "        baptistery,  80  seq.,  190. 

"  "  "  "          their     connection     and 

meaning,  216. 

"  "  "        central  dome,  89,  101. 

"  "  "        east  dome,  101. 

"  "  "        north  transept,  90. 

"  "  "        south  transept,  92. 

"  "         sculptures,  central  archivolt,  84  seq. 

"  "  "  of  foliage,  85. 

"  "  "  of  sheep  and  lamb,  northwest  cor- 

ner, 42. 
"  "  "  left  of  central  arch,  37. 

Lion,  95. 

Place,  nowadays,  70. 


230  INDEX. 

Venice  (continued) — 

St.  Pantaleone,  ceiling,  1  S.  134. 

St.  Pietro  Castello,  cathedral  church  of  Venice,  61. 

St.  Raphael,  church  of,  founded  61. 

St.  Salvadore,  church  of,  founded,  61 ;  piazza  of,  42. 

(4)  Modern  Venice : — 

church,  and  campo,  62. 
.     destruction  of  old  by  new,  26,  pref.  6. 
dirt  of,  26. 
hotels  of,  26. 
lighting  of,  10. 
lotteries  of,  14  and  n. 
progress  of,  70. 
restaurants  of,  4  n. 
sails  of,  4  n.  , 

steamers  in,  4. 

tree  cut  down  before  Academy  (Feb.  26,  1877),  32. 
Veronese,  P.,  designs  some  of  St.  Mark's  mosaics,  90,  1  S.  118-133. 

mischief  done  by,  1  S.  134. 
Virgil,  quoted,  Aen.,  viii.  698,  22. 
Virgin,  Carpaccio's  Brera  Gallery,  Milan,  1  S.  138. 

"      St.  Mark's  bas-reliefs.  47. 
Virtues,  on  St.  Mark's  central  dome  mosaics,  115.  ' 

and  the  seven  gems,  Carpaccio's  St.  George,  2  S.  182. 
"        Venetian,  113. 
Vivarini,  92. 

Wealth,  evils  of,  58. 
Wise  men,  the,  200. 
Wordsworth's  '  White  boe  of  Ryistone,'  62. 

Zacharias,  mosaic,  St.  Mark's,  194. 
Zara,  siege  of,  2. 
Zedekiah,  blinding  of,  66. 


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